Anomaly
by TheVillainsAdvocate
Summary: The sand suffocated Jasmine. It burned hot in her chest - every nerve of her body screaming. Baba's eyes were cold; piercing. Aladdin's neck disfigured beneath Jafar's magic. If she'd known what was to come, she would've accepted death. Instead - she banged on the glass, one more time. (All OC's are mine. Originally created 2016, deleted, then re-posted.) Part 1. Part 2 is coming.
1. Chapter 1: Without A Hero

**"In the palace, right here, lived a wicked vizier; the advisor to Sultan Hamed and this part-time magician, this amateur seer, wished his boss the good Sultan dead. He was charming and slick but unspeakably sick, this despicable parasite. What a villain, boo hiss! Further proof, dears, that this is another Arabian night!"**

* * *

Firm digits curled around her hand as the Sultan paired the two together—what he was hoping for by doing that, Jasmine would never know. Jafar pulled her close to him, feigning sweetness to appease his superior. Under sudden pressure, her knuckles turned white. The Vizier tightening his grip in a silent threat. But Jasmine didn't flinch at the pain, she'd never give him that satisfaction. Instead, her hand yanked free, closing the remaining distance, speaking so only Jafar could hear.

"At least _some_ good will come of my being forced to marry. When I am Queen, I will have the power to get rid of _you_!"

The smile didn't reach his eyes as Jafar simulated laughter.

Their charade usually carried out the same way every time: her Baba would close his eyes and look the other way. He wanted to believe his own lie. That his daughter and most trusted ally were best friends. This morning was just another one of those moments as Sultan Hamed chuckled with rosy cheeks.

"That's nice then, all settled. Now Jasmine, getting back to this suitor business... Jasmine? Jasmine!"

Jafar growled watching the wench stomp away, "If only I had gotten that lamp!"

Iago rambled on, mimicking with precision the sweet-and-sour voice of Princess Jasmine; their hatred growing as they watched the Sultan and Princess argue far below.

"Please, just leave me alone, Baba." Jasmine called as she marched out into the palace courtyard.

"But if you'd just—."

"No."

"Darling I only—."

She turned away again.

"Jasmine, please? Tell me, darling."

Jasmine tried to walk away from the rotund man, but his little legs carried him quickly to stand in front once more.

"You don't want to talk, father. You want to order me around… It's like I'm being punished. Yes, it is. Why _are_ you punishing me? Do you want someone to punish? Punish that monster up there for killing someone I love!"

* * *

From the balcony overlooking the courtyard, Jafar stiffened. Jasmine had thrown an accusatory finger his direction no doubt ranting about executing him. Jafar was only half listening when the parrot squawked.

"What if _you_ were the chump husband?"

"What?" Jafar snapped at the neck and Iago fidgeted about Jafar's shoulders.

"You marry the Princess, all right. Then you, uh you, become the sultan."

A rising grin tugged at Jafar's sly mouth. The idea had merit.

* * *

"Dearest, this is not punishment. It's the law. Please, Jasmine. This union is not only for you. But for Agrabah."  
"I'm not ready, father. Why can't you understand that? Sixteen is too young."

Her father chuckled, trying to remain jolly even when frustrated. "My dear, most girls marry by fourteen. Besides, you're mature for your age…"

Jasmine closed her chest off turning away from him again. It was impossible to talk to her when she got this way. Hyped up. Over agitated. Pacing around refusing to listen. What did he do to deserve such a fine yet headstrong child? Maybe he'd been too lenient during childhood years. Plus, it had originally been her mother's job to host these discussions when the time came. Unfortunately, Sultana never made it this far, leaving him utterly clueless on how to turn a little girl into a woman.

"What!?" Jasmine whirled around, long hair flipping over her shoulder.

"I'm sorry dearest, but I don't know what else to do. If you won't choose a suitor, maybe..."

"Don't say it, Baba... you wouldn't dare put me through something so humiliating."

The Sultan sank against the fountain. His heart sore at the look on his angel's face.

"A battle for your hand isn't the worst idea. Is it? Whichever suitor wins in the games… Jasmine, please come back."

This time he didn't push for cooperation, knowing she was justified in being upset. If there were any options left to show Jasmine the good in an arranged marriage, he'd have found it by now. The law was there to maintain balance, and as Sultan, he needed to enforce that balance. But imposing on his daughter's free will felt like a slow torturous death. With a small fist, Hamed took hold of his white beard; a special way to help him think. Surely this could be set right. With any luck, Allah would allow his daughter to have everything she wanted while still fulfilling the law.

* * *

Jasmine rounded the corner, trudging up the staircase of the eastern tower when something shifted in the atmosphere. From the top step, a well-dressed man with immaculate stature casted a looming shadow.

"Did that go as you hoped, Princess?" Jafar drawled silkily. Jasmine rolled her eyes then stopped at the step just beneath him. She refused to acknowledge Jafar but he blocked her path. "Unless you choose a suitor, it will be impossible to make good on your threat. You and I both know, Princess, that without _true_ authority, you will never be rid of me."

"Get out of my way, Jafar. That's an order." She dangerously warned forcing him to the side. Their eyes remained locked as they met at the top of the staircase. Jasmine brushed her chest against his, intentionally pausing there in the doorway.

"I need not be _Queen_ to end you. Regardless, you're nothing more than a _slave_." Jasmine sashayed away but could feel Jafar burning a hole in her.

"Do you know what his last words were?" Jafar taunted, pleased with Jasmine's reaction as she stiffened, "the heathen. What _was_ he called? Or perhaps rats don't have names?"

Jasmine marched up to Jafar and swatted his chest with a thud.

"Never speak of him again!"

Without flinching, Jafar caught her wrist, halting the second blow centimeters from his face. Jasmine couldn't help but gasp as he pulled her into him.

"Why is it you fell helplessly into the arms of some pitiful _boy_?" His breath fell inches from her mouth. "Could it be that the touch of a real _man_ frightens you?"

Still caught in his clutches, Jasmine bared pearled teeth, ignoring the electrical charge surging in her belly. She stood on her toes to challenge his height, hissing, "I don't see a real man though do I? You're just jealous I prefer a commoner over you."

"Why you -."

"Will you two stop Fighting!?" The white-haired Sultan raised his arms in defeat. "Jasmine, Jafar, p_lease_?" Why did the two people he cared for most despise one another?

Neither backed down for a long moment but Jafar knew where he stood in this pyramid and so released the Princess, then bowed humbly to Sultan Hamed. The Grand Vizier spewed another elegant apology and Jasmine knew it would be enough for him to win Baba over. Again. Jasmine crossed her arms at the sickening display of false humility, wishing Baba had left her to deal with this on her own.

"That's quit aright, Jafar. I'm afraid this suitor business has made us all unnerved."

Her father's lack of discipline should come as a shock, but it didn't. After asking that Jafar resume his duties in the Great Hall, Hamed strolled away lost in thought.

Jafar rose from the floor as the Sultan disappeared down the corridor. Jasmine stuck her nose in the air facing the other way. Jafar appeared at her side, his billowy red sleeves tickling the hairs on Jasmine's arm in the process. They each fixed their gaze in opposing directions, but Jasmine remained highly alert to each of Jafar's hushed words as he relayed a threat of his own.

"There will come a time, Princess, when you think you are safe. When you believe all your dreams have finally come true. When that day comes, I'll be there. And I will annihilate every drop of your happiness. Everything you love. Everything you hold dear. Will be _mine_."

"It'll take more than empty threats, from an empty man, to scare me. I always win Jafar, haven't I proved that enough by now?"

She could feel him smirking as he walked away. Jasmine looking over her shoulder until a thick cape disappeared behind the corner.

* * *

Panic rose in his mouth in the form of bile, Aladdin forcing the acidic lump down painfully. Never before did he have to play the hero; living a life of thieving crime didn't exactly call for selfless acts against villains. Sure, quick wit and acrobats came easily to a street rat. But that was the extent. Regardless, Aladdin had been trying to set things right. There had been a plan; Jasmine was to distract Jafar by any means possible while he stole back the lamp. Unfortunately, a hole burned into that idea rather quickly. When Jafar had wished for Jasmine to fall desperately in love with him—then preceded to kiss her — Aladdin had a shot. Young Princess, however, faltered just before the kiss, and looked for help, blowing his cover; and any chance of grabbing the lamp. Now all hell had broken loose, and he was the last man standing.

"How many times do I have to kill you, boy?"

Rather, how many crazy nut jobs did it take to murder an innocent kid? This guy was sick to the core. Aladdin had, had a fair share of run-ins with guards and people who considered him a nuisance, but the pugnacious way Jafar looked now, was startling. Never did Aladdin feel someone direct that amount of revulsive hatred towards him. With large quick eyes, Aladdin found an opening, cartwheeling into a backflip avoiding the first blow Jafar swung. But then came another, which pummeled into Aladdin's gut, the snake staff cracking against bones.

"Gahk," backside sliding against the ground, the back of Aladdin's head met the wall.

"Going somewhere boy?" Jafar smiled coolly, "Running away again no doubt. But this time, you'd leave a woman to fend for herself." Jafar clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Not much of a hero are you, street rat?"

Holding his side in discomfort, Aladdin peered up, glimpsing Jasmine caught in an hourglass of rising sand. He didn't plan on running away. At least not without her. But he wanted to run. This wasn't what he had asked for. He'd wished to be a prince; not to fight a battle that wasn't even his. Maybe if he'd known his girlfriend's father's Grand Vizier was a megalomaniac, then Aladdin could've made a different set of wishes. Or freed Genie when he had the chance.

"I wasn't running, you snake. I'd never run from a bastard like you." Shoulders squared off allowing Aladdin to appear tougher. "Yeah… People talk in the streets. You're a bastard child—aren't you? And you have no more right here than I do."

Possibly the most idiotic plan yet; insulting the powerful sorcerer with a sadistic mindset. But before Aladdin could think better of it, the words spilled like vomit. Aladdin stood uneasily, hunched in pain as Jafar drew near with blazing eyes.

"You insignificant," his stance widened, "Miserable," ruby snake eyes glowed brightly, "Little fool!"

For a moment, Aladdin believed to be hallucinating when Jafar hissed with a snakelike tongue.

"So, a snake, am I? Perhaps you'd like to see how snakelike I can be!"

Suddenly sharp fangs overtook Jafar's wide mouth, their razor-sharp edges dripping with venom as the rest of his face transformed. The tan, wrinkled skin grew into thick, scaly bumps, curving over his face and hands, while onyx strips sliced down the center of saffron-colored eyes.

"Oh dear, Allah…" Aladdin pressed deeper into the crimson wall, wishing now more than ever that he hadn't provoked the beast. But he had. And now Jafar looked like a creature fashioned by Hades himself. Wasn't there a Genie clause that said people couldn't rise from the dead? Well, demonic beings should be included in that rule book.

"Do you know what it looks like when a king cobra devours a rat?"

Aladdin swallowed hard unable to peel his gaze from the snake-like beast.

"No? Then perhaps we shall play a game, street rat. Try to challenge me again, and I'll show you _exactly_ how a King devours a foul trifling threat." Discolored fangs took up the better half of a sadistic smile. Jafar growled a hiss, lunging forward in a faked assault, forcing Aladdin to flinch.

_Son of a bitch_. Aladdin peeked, realizing the game.

"You're right, that's not amusing," Jafar stepped inwards, leaving a meager foot between them, "After all, it's impolite to play with your food." He smiled again devilishly enjoying how he made Aladdin quiver.

Nowhere to run and no more genius plans were coming to mind. If there was a man at all beneath this monster, Aladdin hoped he could get to it through reason.

"I didn't want this, Jafar. I only wanted a better life for myself. To stop living in squalor, starving and suffering. This isn't what you want either. You're not a killer."

Jafar paused, raising scaly embossed brows.

Finally, something got through to him. "Please… just… just put down your staff. Let Jasmine go. We can figure this out, safely. Nobody has to get hurt." The tension could be cut with a knife as Aladdin held his breath.

"Where is the fun in that? **_Street_** **_rat_**!"

Before he could exhale a hand was at his throat, Aladdin's feet dangling while Jafar raised him one-handedly by the neck. He clawed at the thick reptilian scales, scrambling to pry each finger from their death grip. But it was useless. As Aladdin tried to yell the grip tightened, crushing his Adam's apple.

It was barely human, the way each word formed when he rasped, "still time… set things right…"

All this and the boy still couldn't accept defeat. How like a rodent. "I think not, _boy_. Your time is up!"

* * *

With the giant cuffs reminding Genie of his limitations, his blue hands fell limp on the ground in defeat. He hated even looking at the damned things. If only it were possible to block out the horrid screams by closing his eyes. Then, and only then, could he try to ignore the sick feeling in his heart that said this was all his fault. Sure, he'd tried warning Al the dangers of making wishes; but that fact changed nothing. Rambling a list of rules never could have prepared his master for the tragedy the lamp brought. Yes, magic came with a price. But the cost varied drastically with each master. If only Genie knew Aladdin had enemies like Jafar; he could have prevented all this from happening.

Now it was too late as poor Aladdin tragically took his last breath. Genie cringed shutting his eyes tighter, wishing he could tune it all out. But he still saw Aladdin's face, gaunt, desperately pleading for help. Why hadn't Al freed him earlier that day? The boy promised to do it, swore up and down he'd remove Genie's bondage of ancient burdening. Even after they discussed the cost of freedom, Aladdin had sworn to use his last wish selflessly:

_"But... that would mean..."_

_"Yes, Al."_

_"Genie, no. That isn't fair. There must be some other way to set you free."_

_Genie hugged Aladdin tightly, "But death is freedom Aladdin. It's truly the only wish I've ever wanted a master to make. To set me free from the weight of the lamp's prison. Please... It' s the only escape from a life of servitude."_

When Aladdin had gone back on his promise it was heartbreaking, and Genie became cross with the boy. But if he'd known that would've been the last time they'd speak, he would have made it count. Now it was unlikely Genie would ever be free. Or see the light of day again. Once Jafar made his final wish Genie would be sucked back into the lamp, trapped there until the next person found it. And based on his impression of Jafar, it was highly unlikely anyone ever would.

* * *

"Jafar! Stop this, _please_!" Jasmine pleaded, pounding against the glass prison, but all her efforts went unnoticed. Warm grains of sand rushed over the peak of her hair and trickled down into a massive pile, crystals quickly rising. "Please. Don't make me die this way! Dammit, Jafar!" The name broke out as a scream.

Jafar slammed Aladdin against a wall, too consumed with strangling the boy to notice anything else.

She beat on the walls again, and again, until her hands turned red, throbbing in futility. Could no one hear her outside the thick hourglass? Jasmine scanned the throne room with wild eyes, blinking away tears. At no fault of his own Genie was of no use to anyone, and the only other in the room was the Sultan. Jasmine covered her mouth gasping at his terrible condition. Baba had fallen ill this evening after announcing her engagement to Prince Ali. When they left the podium, he had stumbled over in pain suddenly going into shock, unable to speak or move. Shortly after, Jafar enacted his wishes, taking control of the palace and her. Looking more closely at her father Jasmine noticed his humiliating outfit. Jafar had dressed Baba in a jester's uniform and strung him up like a puppet. Hamed hung limp, while he drooled, mouth agape. His large brown eyes clouded and unaware.

"Father, no... This is all my fault. Baba, I'm so sorry. Please, forgive me." Jasmine pressed her face against the glass, her tears and breath fogging it as she cried helplessly. No one could hear her, but she prayed that somehow Baba knew she was sorry.

Jafar told her he would do this. Threatened to take away everything she held dear, but she hadn't believed him. They had fought so often over the years, each saying horrible things to the other. He would mock her, challenging her while she bit back, pushing him to the limit; both knowing he could never harm her.

Now her sick father hung from the ceiling and Jafar turned her home into a house of horror. The throne room had always been a place for justice and comfort where Hamed ruled over Agrabah as a kind Sultan. Now it was unrecognizable. Jafar had destroyed the jeweled lanterns that usually decorated the walls, replacing them with carved gilded cobra heads, a candle blazing inside each open fanged mouth. Mountains of gold cluttered the polished floor, and spikes lined the doorway. Their only exit now a death trap. Even Baba's throne was transformed from an elephant to an open-mouthed viper.

Jasmine held her stomach, the beads of sand filling her navel and climbing underneath her breasts.

_This is my fault, Baba. I did this, pushed Jafar over the limit. I hope you can forgive me._

Jafar and Aladdin fell into her line of sight once more and Jasmine's chest constricted. Aladdin wouldn't hold out much longer, and neither would she. Because of her stubbornness and pride, Jafar won. She should have just married some snooty random Prince. Hell, even when Jafar had tried to marry her himself, was the day she should have given in. Given up and allowed the sick bastard what he wanted. Apparently, he would get it anyway. Had pride not suffocated her judgment Aladdin wouldn't be pinned in a grip of death; and Baba wouldn't be dangling like bait on a hook, but rather in his chambers receiving the medical care needed.

_"Finally, you will bow to me!"_

Jasmine recalled Jafar's ridiculous command. The fool pretending to be worthy of Sultan by dressing in Hamed's white garments.

_"If you won't bow before a sultan, then you will cower before a sorcerer!"_

Realization yanked her from despair. With all his power Jafar could take anything his black heart desired. Anything at all. But what he could never force was genuine loyalty and respect. As it had always been, Jasmine was ready to battle him head-on, and when he commanded she bowed, she was the only one who stood up to him. She would fall on ten thousand blades before falling down on one knee for a traitorous snake; undoubtedly most of the City would feel the same.

But because the lives of the two men she loved most were at stake, Jasmine would swallow down stubborn pride. For Baba and Aladdin, she would lower her standards, and do whatever it took to vanquish the beast. After all, love and sacrifice went hand in hand. Since his mercy was non-existent, she would appeal to Jafar's swollen ego instead.

"I'll do it!" Jasmine hollered, spitting against the rising sand as the crystals poured up to her mouth. Her fists banged wildly one last time. "I'll bow Jafar! Please, just let Aladdin go…" She could have sworn Jafar twitched at her voice, maybe now he would pay attention. "I'll bow to you!"

A raw burning sensation clawed at her throat as a wave of gold seeped into her nostrils and ears. Jasmine's vision strained, the immediate suffocation overthrowing her body's functions. Thick lashes closed in defeat as the heavy sands snuffed out her existence.

This time Jasmine had lost. Jafar's promise to annihilate all she loved, had come to pass.


	2. Chapter 2

As Jasmine grew faint beneath the sands, she re-envisioned the day before it all went wrong:

_That same night, after Baba had pleaded for his Vizier and daughter to get along, Jasmine and Jafar shot daggers from across the dinner table. Hamed ignored their hostility so long as there was peace. Then, for the second time during their meal, Jafar brought up Aladdin._

_"I imagine a feast taking place in the bowels of Agrabah as we speak." His snake eyes settled on Jasmine. "Though I can't imagine the corpse of the street rat is very satisfactory, even for rodents. Then again, if they're hungry enough..."_

_Jasmine snatched Jafar's glass, tossed red wine in his face, then stormed out of the dining hall with head held high. Jafar flicked a handkerchief from his lap and dried his drenched beard with a complacent huff. Then, pardoning his exit to Hamed, followed the girl._

_In the poorly lit hallway, Jafar caught and cornered Jasmine, pressing her to the wall with hands on either side of her heart-shaped face._

_"You've tested my patience for the last time, Princess." He barked in undetected whispers. He traced the curves of her body with a cursory glance, entranced momentarily by the rise and fall of her bronze chest. "I have half a mind —."_

_"To do what Jafar? You can't touch me. You have no power, no authority, no value." A slick tongue ran across full pouty lips as her demeanor shifted. "But go ahead and try. I'll let you this time."_

_His fingers twitched at the thought of beating the brat. How many times had Jasmine humiliated him for sheer enjoyment? She was no better than him - nor was the Sultan - yet she pranced around the palace as if owning the world. And him. All it would take is a single blow, and she'd be out cold on the floor. Then when she'd awake Jasmine would find herself in chains. He'd teach her a lesson she'd never forget._

_"Do it Jafar," her hips rose off the wall and pressed against his groin. Jafar sharply inhaled and her belly tightened. "Teach me a lesson."_

_Had he spoken that out loud? Surely, he wasn't so careless but Jafar couldn't think clearly; the smell of honeyed perfume and her slender curves beneath him was debilitating. She'd matured into a woman overnight with milky breasts, a pert round ass, and a silver tongue. And just as suddenly as she'd grown, Jasmine used that allure to her advantage; getting whatever she wanted with a fox's smile and angelic voice. Men like her father and the guards never stood a chance. When trying to use those tactics against Jafar he'd put a halt to them instantly. He demeaned her often, fought back and contested her every move proving she had no effect on him. He hated her he didn't lust for her._

_Yes, the Princess was stunning, but Jafar would not cave so easily. He'd be damned if a little girl would ensnare him in her shallow trap._

_Yet now, with those wide hips and toned belly pressed towards his manhood, Jafar was tripping head first into said trap. Briefly, Jafar imagined her legs wrapped around his waist. It would indeed bring absolute pleasure to have her chained to his bed, writhing in agony as he split her body with his._

_"That's what I thought." Jasmine pushed off the wall standing erect, yanking Jafar from dark thoughts. "You'll never do what you genuinely want. Never consume that which you're craving." Her hand pressed against the swell of his chest to shove the older man back. "And you'll always be a miserable old git because you're a weak, coward. We both know who's in charge."_

_Jafar's fists clenched at his side and around the staff's neck as he bared large teeth, "Keep hiding behind your title, Princess. But it won't protect you forever."_

_With cat-like finesse Jasmine tightly wound the black curled hair of his beard around a finger then playfully yanked, earning a growl from her toy. "More empty threats Jafar. It's only impressive if there's an actual challenge."_

_Jasmine smirked like a mischievous woman with a beautiful secret then turned away. She rolled her hips dramatically, sashaying like a temptress. She'd hoped Jafar would be too tempted not to take the bait - in Jasmine's mind Jafar would attack at any second by tossing her to the ground and having his way with her - then she'd scream for the guards and at last have Jafar executed. Jafar killed Aladdin, he deserved a similar fate._

_But by the time she'd reached the bedroom door and turned around, Jafar had gone._

Now all that Jasmine could see was a void of black nothing.

* * *

An enormous thrust of voltage beat like a rhythmic heart inside his veins. Magic surging powerfully through his core and Jafar drank it in like an oasis in a desert storm. This is what he'd been searching for his entire life. A raw all-consuming power that fed his lungs with venomous strength. Not only had he never been endowed with this amount of potent energy, but years of detestation was finally being unleashed. The mask of humble servitude only egged the uncontrollable malicious fever for revenge. And the street rat was the first to receive a load of pent-up belligerent anguish.

As Aladdin's pulse slowed, and body temperature cooled, the snake-beast hardened. It was delicious taking the life of another; feeling the dead weight of a dying little brute as his eyes bulged and lips turned blue. Cruelty. Now that was a mask Jafar could easily wear. It was liberating, at long last, being allowed the ability to take control of everything he'd wanted.

Jafar hesitated to snap the urchin's neck when a soft sound beckoned.

"Of course, the Pussycat is trapped in her sandbox." He spoke to Aladdin mockingly, knowing damn well the boy couldn't respond; possibly was too unconscious to even hear.

Keeping a focus on his prey, Jafar aimed accurately behind himself with the staff, fire hurling from its mouth, shattering the glass dome. A golden wave washed over the jagged opening dragging Jasmine's body with the tide.

The sound that came after resembled the dead rising from a watery grave; Princess Jasmine heaving slug-like clumps of sand from her mouth as her body trembled violently. Her eyes freckled with white dots as she raised herself up on the palms of her hands. "Jaf—." Jafar peered over, Jasmine heaving once more, clenching fistfuls of sand as her body wrenched. He couldn't help but show a mouthful of fangs as he grinned.

Quivering arms pushed halfway off the ground before sinking back into the sand, brown crystals tarnishing silky hair. Warm sludgy sand coated Jasmine's cheek as she gasped for air, exhausted. All the fight within her had vanished in an instant, her only goal had been to get out of that damn hourglass and save her loved ones. Now she was out, her muscles refused to move, and her vocal chords felt like something had ripped them out. A hollowed laughter rattled her spine then a heavy thud slammed into the ground. Maybe it was Aladdin.

Allah, please let him have let go of Aladdin.

"You gave up quicker than I thought Princess." The 's' of her name sounded strange like he was literally hissing when speaking, "And here I thought you were a challenge."

Her head rose slightly, feeling extremely heavy on her fragile neck, and Jasmine let out a whimper. That was not Jafar. She knew that twisted mean old man, but this thing that stood over her now was anything but him. Jasmine closed her eyes, wishing the image would go away. Instead of getting what she desperately wanted, Jafar ripped her hands from her face, rolling her on her back as he knelt over her.

"I apologize, your majesty. Does this frighten you!"

Jasmine screamed hoarsely as Jafar thrust large yellow fangs at her face, the snake's mouth unhinged and wide over her head.

"Stop it Jafar, stop it!" Jasmine writhed under him, body convulsing helplessly under the weight of terror. This wasn't how he was supposed to play their game. He cheated, going beyond their set limits. This time she couldn't defeat him. Not like this.

Venom dripped, barely missing her brown eyes as she shut them again tightly.

"I'll do whatever you want. Please… Just stop it!" The last three words turned from a sob into another scream, a mixture of anger and fear festering within her.

Momentary silence was deafening and there was a shift in weight above her.

"Come now, my dear," Jafar drawled resuming a dominating stance as if nothing had happened, "I thought begging was beneath you."

When her eyes opened, she saw the familiar rigid face. Jasmine blew out a breath, she didn't know she'd been holding, relaxing only slightly that the snake beast had dissipated. She could play the game with a man. But not with a beast.

"Maybe if your street rat had begged like you, he could've lived."

Sharp cut edges dug into her skin as jasmine rolled onto her stomach in the pile of sand. Jafar was too busy gloating, watching the limp boy along the wall instead of her.

Good. Keep reveling. Pride comes before fall Jafar.

For the first time since out of the hourglass, Jasmine noticed Genie anxiously watching her from by the throne. He gave a slight nod to where his lamp lay and she returned the gesture in agreement.

"If you're a good girl, Princess, perhaps I'll let you dispose of the body—fuck!"

A thick shard of glass protruded from Jafar's shoulder after Jasmine rammed the spike into flesh. The tendons of his neck tightened, Jafar stifling a growl as he pulled out the blade of glass. Sliced flesh fell open as its fibers detached from the foreign object and small spurts of blood cried through his black vest.

That little cunt.

An onyx gaze met Genie's anxious one. Did everyone think Jafar a fool? Nothing would stop him after having come so far. Especially not some spoiled teenager and a big blue lump. Taking hold of his staff, Jafar locked eyes with the Djinn and Jafar whispered a final wish.

"Ha," Jasmine clutched the cold metal to her bosom victoriously and wasted no time. "Genie I wish for Jafar to be powerless!"

Nothing happened. Why was nothing happening?

Time stood still amongst the silence. Then, Jafar stepped into their triangle with callous contentment and looked Jasmine over.

"Powerless, my dear? Mm… I didn't realize dominating me was a fantasy of yours. I'll remedy that," He purred.

"Wait…" Jasmine's crimson breasts rose in heavy pants, sweat glistening on her dark skin. "I… I don't understand."

"Jaz…" Genie held out his arms apologetically. Suddenly, with an unnerving clash, the golden cuffs dropped from his wrists. "Jasmine, I'm sorry. You were too late."

Jasmine went slack.

"I did my best, Princess."

"It's okay." Her eyes darted to a coolheaded Jafar and back to the heartbroken djinn. "It's okay, Genie. You can still help. Take Al, fly him somewhere safe and I'll—Genie… what's wrong? What's happening to you?"

Azure flesh paled, dissipating. as Genie closed his tired eyes. Centuries of devastating heartaches had held his heart captive far too long. He might have been a man before the lamp, but if so, there was no trace of that man anymore. The lamp had taken away all he was, all he'd hoped to be. It stripped him of any joy or serenity of his own; forced to watch every master around him receive their heart's desire until their desires had destroyed them. The horrors of it all had hollowed his core and stolen his happiness.

"What's happening… Genie—" Jasmine whispered, looking again between the villain and the only hope she'd had left.

"I've carried the weight of the world long enough. The chains that bound me…" Genie exhaled through his nose, "Princess, I couldn't have broken them on my own."

Jasmine stepped forward, wanting to reach out and touch Genie to keep him here longer. She didn't know him, had only just met him when Jafar took control of the lamp. But somehow, for whatever reason, she cared about him.

"Genie, I still don't understand. What did he do? What did you do!"

Sparks of light ignited within his soul, his spirit breathing life for the first time.

"I can't stay anymore Jasmine." Deep sorrow and gratitude conflicted across his face. "I'm… free."

Then, like a vapor of smoke, he was gone.

* * *

It was the calm before the storm. Jafar waiting patiently as Jasmine readied herself, still holding the brass weight in her hand.

"You did this… Didn't you?"

It was so subtle she barely saw it when Jafar gave a wink. It grated her nerves that Jafar continued to win tonight. At every turn, there the bastard was with that bullshit smirk on his face. He needed reminding of who was the victor in this match. The tiniest moan echoed from where Aladdin laid making Jafar break protocol as he took eyes off Jasmine.

With agility and strength, she didn't know she possessed, Jasmine hurled the heavy lamp at Jafar not looking to see if it hit as she passed. Jasmine turned over the beggar's face in her arms, panting heavily upon seeing he'd survived.

"The street rat is more like a cockroach… Disgusting little bastard just won't die!" Jafar raised the end of his staff aiming towards the urchin's skull.

"Dammit, Jafar that's enough! No one else has to die! I admit it, you finally won. All right? You win, Jafar. I lose. Now just leave us alone!"

He had no intention of that. A brutal scream rocked all of Agrabah as Jafar ripped Aladdin from Jasmine's arms.

"Princess, you should know by now it's not about winning. It never was." Jafar drew back his staff then struck it clean across Aladdin's nose, snapping it in two.

Manicured hands covered her mouth, hot tears lining the dirt of Jasmine's face.

"I told you I would annihilate everything you loved." Another blow to the face, then another at Aladdin's gut, the thickness of the cobra head snapping a rib as it struck.

The boy gasped for air, hunching over as his face contorted in vicious agony.

"And Princess. I'm a man of my word."

The butt of the staff raised high over the back of Aladdin's head, Jafar aiming to kill; one swift blow to sever the skull from the spine.

His golden rod hit hard, its powerful impact knocking loose raven strands as Jafar's victim landed on her knees; thick bountiful locks hiding Jasmine's face. Aladdin curled up in a fetal position, Jasmine slowly rising to full height as she straddled the boy from the marketplace; her lithe body a shield between the two men. A sizeable welt flared at the bottom of pink lips, royal blood topping the gash like a cherry.

He had retracted his attack as quickly as possible when the princess forced herself into the crossfire. The blow much less forceful than initially planned, but her lip had busted all the same. The sight of her dark eyes and bleeding mouth rattled him to the core as he froze.

Black hooded eyes flashed with a featherlike trace of emotion and Jasmine desperately wished to understand the intensity of his stare. But, as suspected, his deep-set eyes became unreadable and cold again. She tried to match his expressions, to block him out of her head the way he did to her; but subtlety eluded her while searching him for a hint of humanity.

"I said, that's enough."

Nothing.

"Now. Let. Him. Go."

Without a blink, the sarcastic narcissism took effect once more. "Your time for making demands is over, Princess."

"No? If you kill him, you'll have to kill me too."

"An option all too tempting I'm afraid," he bit back dryly.

"Not likely, seeing as you need me to rule this Kingdom."

Her valor was amusing. "Go on…"

"The people of Agrabah will never stand for this charade. They will all flee in terror and you will have no one left to rule over. And all of this," she waved a hand in the air, "will mean nothing."

"I believe my ways of persuasion will make them reconsider."

She scoffed halfheartedly, "So you'll sentence everyone to death or prison?"

Jafar seeming to lose interest studied the cobra's eyes, "Trust me, Princess… there are things far worse than death."

"Soon enough you will have an uprising. The kingdom will be torn apart and you'll have nothing, and no one to rule over. Agrabah will fall because of you."

Silence.

"He lives… and I will stand by your side to assure all is well and right. A symbol of peace and unity for Agrabah."

She let out a slow, shaky breath desperately trying to look strong.

"Done."

Spidery fingers snapped together sending Aladdin sliding across the polished floor. Two guards bounded in, huffing as they scooped up the street urchin without pity.

Princess Jasmine gasped in irritation.

What the hell! Razoul and Saeed obey Jafar now!? What traitorous swine!

Jasmine spun around on Jafar stomping her feet as she closed the space between them. "We had a deal, Jafar! You are to leave Aladdin be!"

"I agreed to spare his life. I never said he could stay in my palace!" Jafar snarled crumpling his nose in disgust at the thought of keeping Aladdin as company.

"Look at him! You beat him half to death! If you send him away with no medical care, it's the same thing as sealing his fate!"

Jafar started past her, growing impatient at the childish bantering.

"Jafar, dammit, this is not—."

Jafar swung back around snatching her wrist in his hand with such intensity it made her dizzy. White teeth baring, Jafar growled, his nose practically touching hers.

"I wouldn't push my luck if I were you, Princess!" He hissed, "You can still serve as my Queen even while rotting at the bottom of a dungeon."

"I love him Jafar! I love him and you've sentenced him to death. How can you be so heartless!?" Her voice broke in a high pitch, despite her efforts to sound tough.

Jafar released her with a repulsed look, "What the hell could you know about love after three days? He's a stranger! You'll get over it..."

"I know more about love than a black-hearted beast like you ever could."

Ashen cheeks turned gold under fallen tears, and Jasmine turned not waiting for a response, as she chased after the guards and Aladdin. Racing through the corridor and out to the terrace, Jasmine rushed down the never-ending steps as the night air bit against her watery eyes. She caught sight of the trio in the garden, Aladdin's bare feet dragging against the stone walkway, while carried under his arms towards the gates.

"Wait… Razoul, wait!" The doors were opened as she barely reached the bottom step. "Aladdin!"

Aladdin dry coughed as he sucked dust clouds into his lungs upon falling. Looking over his shoulder, the two robust men dusted their hands clean of him and turned back to the palace. He heard the voice of a dove, long black hair bouncing in waves as the princess, his Princess, rushed towards him. Just as Aladdin thought, she would rescue him, bring him back inside the comforts of the palace and love him with all she had. As he stood to reach out for her the massive iron gates slammed shut, separating them from each other, forever.

* * *

**Robbin Williams deserved tribute and that's why I wrote off Genie.**


	3. Chapter 3: Secrets

Jasmine awoke with the sunrise, the damp morning dew soaking through her silk pants. Darkness had not long surrendered to the light, orange skies kissing the grey clouds away. Amber rays glowed softly as it poured onto the lawn and over her face, making her to rub sleep from her eyes. A stinging sensation earned a groan: the tear in her crimson slave suit revealed the gash above her knee, clear drops weeping from its crusted blood.

It was not intentional to sleep outdoors with cemented pebbles and stone digging deep into her backside; Jasmine rubbed out the stiff pain as she stood. Unwelcoming blurred images flooded back, from last night; Genie, Jafar, Aladdin, Abu ... the Sultan. Panic jump-started her heart. She was too focused on Aladdin last night with excessive weeping she'd left her father in the terrible hands of that snake bastard.

Massive beautiful doors opened and Jasmine stumbled forward, having reached for the handles at the same moment. A rather handsome, young guard stood, shoulders stiff and squared off, as he motioned a swift bow then turned on his heel for Jasmine to follow. She didn't recognize his face, then again, she hardly noted most the staff. Thin small fingers wrapped around each other in a fidgety motion. The massive halls and vast ceilings felt strange and unwelcoming while being led through the corridors like a prisoner, taken captive in her own home. The guard pulled the dining hall drapes back, the young boy standing aside to allow Jasmine access. He bowed once more then let the curtains fall.

Having already expected to see Jafar, Jasmine wasn't shocked when she saw him positioned as head of the grand table, his smug expression all too familiar. It wasn't until his large bony hand gestured to the seat next to him that Jasmine was thrown off guard. If he dropped dead right now, it still wouldn't be satisfying, and Jasmine would happily stab him in the heart for good measure then dance on his grave. Hating him she could do. But sitting down for a civilized breakfast was a repulsive and delusional notion.

_I'll do whatever you want. Just let him go!_

Her own words came back to bite her in the ass - she rolled her eyes at the recollection, ambling with her arms crossed to take a seat.

"I see you've made yourself at home. Your filth staining my father's chair. _Again_," she griped, eager to prevent silence.

Without missing a beat, he replied matter-of-factly. "Had I known bitchy remarks would be spewed so early in the morning, I would have had a glass of wine first."

She glowered leaning back in her chair, arms crossed, her right hand fingering the snake armlet. Crap, she'd forgotten what she was still wearing.

Plates were set down in front of the pair, servants moving silently in harmony as they worked.

Her face twisted wondering why Jafar was making an offended expression.

"Now what? Has the royal chef failed to meet your standards, oh mighty one?"

The black goatee twisted in his hand.

"It appears I'm dining in the company of filthy swine ..." Jafar gave her a slow once-over, "You look like a sickly pig on its way to be slaughtered."

She pressed her palm to her chest, seemingly moved at the charismatic sentiment, "Well, I only wanted to look my best for you, darling. Consider it a symbol, a representation, of how Agrabah will see _you_ as Sultan."

Quickly interested in a blemish on the hand-carved table, Jasmine wired her mouth shut, refusing to interact with the jackass any further. Luckily, he had the same rationale, and cut into his meal.

Jafar scooped a forkful in his mouth and drank deeply from a silver cup. Jasmine wondered for a moment if he too was given tea, or if he only drank the blood of children. From the corner of her eye the young woman watched squarely. He chewed meticulously and thoroughly before swallowing, a bulge of food protruding as it slid down his gullet. Jafar's neck was long and thin, hidden under an odd, light-colored garment, which possibly wrapped around the back of his head too. She'd seen nothing more than the skin of his hands and face, the reasoning behind it always a mystery. Jasmine noted how the shadows of his attire matched his soul, in color and density.

Jasmine sipped languidly at the spiced tea, concluding that the vizier - ewe, 'Acting Sultan' - wasn't human, but rather some evil spirit sent to destroy her life. Therefore, it stood to reason that his attire kept him from combusting in the sun, hid four crab-like legs, and his dragon tail and tentacles - which took place of his manhood. Jasmine smiled inwardly imagining him as a scurvy little monster instead of a despicable human. It was the only thing that would explain why he was the way he was.

Black twisted hair was combed over, Jafar wiping his mouth with a handkerchief in a smooth swoop down over his chin. Neither of them spoke, but she could feel his eyes on her, and before she could return the stare he had already looked away. Jasmine had barely touched her food, watching it harden on the plate in silent protest. How she was protesting the shitty circumstance by starving herself, she didn't really know, but just the same, refused to do anything but sit and stew.

With only a few bites left, she hoped Jafar would finish them quickly and leave. The silence was uncomfortable; his utensils scrapped at the plate like nails on a chalkboard. The princess knew she should be happy, maybe even grateful, that she'd lived through last night; that Aladdin had been set free, but her own words from the night before haunted her. Promising to stand by Jafar's side and keep the peace in Agrabah. What a stupid, stupid thing to consent to. No matter what she did, surely no one would accept Jafar. Not really. He was a peasant by blood and a megalomaniac by trade.

Ready for another banter, she spoke.

"You must have a big one."

Bread caught midway as Jafar swallowed roughly, "Excuse me?"

"The lie you will feed Agrabah, it has to be huge. You can't truly expect the city to accept someone like _you_ as their Sultan. And no one would ever believe a virtuous woman, like myself, would settle for your kind. So, I'm interested in knowing what amount of dung will fly out of your mouth."

A stare down began.

Knife and fork clanked unnervingly as Jafar tossed them to his plate, wiped his mouth again in a swift motion, pressing his lips into a flat line. All while never breaking eye contact.

"You seem void of intelligence, so let me make it very clear to you, in the most simplistic of ways. _I_ am the Sultan now, no power on earth can change that, and you will refer to me as such at all times. My kingdom, my roof, and _my _future Sultana. My word is law, break it ..." His teeth showed, "Well, you needn't be reminded of what I am capable of."

Metallic blood pinched from an old wound -which she earned last night - growing raw as Jasmine's teeth nibbled her lip nervously.

"Is. That. Clear?" It was less of a question and more of a demand.

She was silent for a long moment then nodded her head in agreement watching her hands in her lap as Jafar stood, his intimidating stature closing in from behind. Strong large hands gripped the edges of her seat, his fingertips kissing her bare arms. Jasmine closed her eyes at his touch. The ridges of his sharp face leaned into her hair, his lips brushing against her ear and Jasmine froze; he spoke in a low heated tone, the warmth of his breath melting against her neck like butter.

"And if you _ever_ show up looking like _this _again_, _you'll be dining, with me ... _naked_."

She inhaled sharply, muscles below her belly having clenched in response, then turned to watch him take the infamous staff in hand. His cape bellowed with each stride, disappearing with him through the corridor. Jasmine exhaled only when the pounding of his staff had faded.

* * *

The metal gate was rough and cool against her hands but Jasmine petted it affectionately as if it were a helpless creature. She had all but made it. Aladdin was shut away from her forever, crippled and broken just on the other side of the palace gates; and she longed to comfort him and hold him in her arms.

Three days.

Had it only been three days since they'd met?

She ran away from home, every suitor her father egged on detested her, and she longed for freedom. However, when she finally found it, the streets of Agrabah were broke, filthy, and hostile. Aladdin being the only friendly face in the crowds as he selflessly saved her hand from being chopped off.

It didn't matter how long it had been since that day, true love wasn't limited to something as trivial as time. Aladdin was her other half a perfect fit in the hole of her heart. She didn't care if he'd lied to her, more than once, couldn't care less that he was never a real prince. True love withstood any trial!

Her head leaned against the cool plated wall as she whispered, "Come back, Aladdin."

A moment passed with the hum of crickets, Jasmine slowly backing away, when she heard a sound.

* * *

Drinking a second glass of hot tea only added flame to her already heated core, embarrassment and frustration blotching her face. The servants took away the untouched food and left her in solitude via Jasmine's request. Her father hadn't been spotted on her way into the palace nor did he come to breakfast though she doubted Jafar invited him. Salty water leaked from almond-shaped eyes as she thought of the Sultan. Guilt sat heavily on her bosom; she'd been consumed with pouting rather than bringing up the issue with Jafar. It was all too possible the Sultan was dead and tossed out of the highest tower into the streets. Deep sobbing reverberated in the isolated room: Thick raven hair decorated the table while she hid from reality inside the crook of her arms.

Most of the morning passed quickly. The palace's bathing area, the Hamamni, was all the Princess could handle at the moment. Beautiful mosaic tiled floors were cool beneath her bare feet. Dirty footprints followed behind as she walked. Her arms instinctively went above her head waiting to be undressed, servants discarding the red silk outfit -Jasmine demanded them to throw it in the incinerator by the time she got out. Jasmine stepped into the warm pool, tension easing from her calves as they submersed beneath the water.

The Hamamni was structured with several rooms, including hot and cold baths, toilets, shaving areas, and a teahouse. The hot water, provided by underground aqueducts, relaxed her taut muscles; creamy skin slick with moisture as the dirt washed away.

Soap was rubbed gently through the mass of hair, then sweet oils massaged into her scalp, the servant girl's fingers working expertly. Jasmine was feeling a little more like herself letting the steam cleanse her from the inside out. A maiden's calloused hands lathered the soap before applying it to the Princess's glistening skin, but Jasmine grabbed the woman's wrist and requested she be left alone.

Once the servant had gone, Jasmine was free to close her eyes and doze off in solitude.

* * *

"Are you okay Aladdin?"

"Fine."

"No, it's not fine. You need a physician or you could die! I am so sorry for everything he did to you. For everything to have gotten out of control."

"I deserve it I guess," he pouted with defeat, "After lying to you. I was just fooling myself thinking I could be worthy of a woman like you. When all I am...is… is a street rat."

"Don't say that!"

"It's true and you know it Jasmine. You're better off without me, anyway. What could I ever offer the girl who has everything?"

… "Love?"

Silence and Jasmine wondered if Aladdin had walked away until she heard him shuffle in discomfort of his injuries.

"This is all _my_ fault, okay? Not yours. Don't you dare say this is for the best because it's not and you damn well know it! This isn't fair… I love you."

She could hear Aladdin place his head against the gate as he sighed frustrated. "Apparently, that's not enough Jasmine."

She closed her eyes loving the way he said her name yet cringing at his persistent negativity. True love was enough, wasn't it? That's what her father always said when he'd speak about her mother. That true love could withstand the sands of time, no matter what. That's all she wanted for herself. Someone to love and love her in return.

* * *

Its usual voluminous bounce had deflated, the strands of hair clinging to her face and ears, but jasmine didn't mind. Her neck rolled working out the kinks as she came back to the present. She built up a lather in her palm and rubbed the bar down her slender neck, across the prominence of her collarbone and massaged her supple breasts. Dipping her hand below the water, Jasmine lathered her lean stomach, rubbing smoothly over every inch, her senses heightening under the touch.

Her hand paused between her legs and she bit her lip, peeking around the bathing room. When she was sure of her privacy, she allowed herself to relax, fully opening at the thickness of her thighs, humming at the feel of warmth intertwining with her womanhood. The bar of soap pressed between that delicious spot and glided up and down over her smooth slit. She closed her eyes letting her head lean against the edge of the tub, hand in a steady rhythm, Prince Ali's face coming into view. Those mocha eyes full of adventure and excitement. The muscles of his smooth chest, and the curve of his arms. The way her name was light and lovely on his tongue. Their stolen kiss, warm and overflowing with love.

Jasmine moved her hips in time against the slippery object, the friction dragging beads of sweat and desire across her brow.

She moaned softly, biting the sore on her bottom lip and a clouded vision came into view causing her breath to hitch. Strong hands squeezed her ass in angst, the darkness of his eyes full of lustful wicked desires as he wrestled her to the ground in submission. Jasmine struggled beneath the shadow, but only for a moment, as if playing a game. Her face split into a dark sultry smile, her naked body begging for him. Her legs spread wide unashamed. Jasmine's pussy quavered, longing for powerful fingers to enter her, and as they did, Jasmine writhed against the pressure, knowing only Jafar could make her feel this way.

_What the fucking hell!?_

Jasmine forced her hand away in disgust as the image of Jafar burned into her skull. Jasmine looked around the room anxiously, relieved such indiscretions were done in private.

That was an unexpected turn of events._ Shit… more like sickening._

Shakily setting down the soap, a penetrating chill jabbed at her, even the boiling waters unable to keep the frostbite from her soul. Jasmine pulled her knees in with arms wrapped around herself. It came in crushing amounts – guilt, anger, frustration. It disabled the young girl's resolve and her tears mixed with the jade waters.

Sometime passed, Jasmine was helped to dress and fix her hair, then headed down to the parlor for luncheon. To her relief Jafar failed to appear, for some irrelevant reason. A servant, whose scalp was bald and oily, dressed in grey robes with a brown sash around his waist, offered Jasmine entertainment while she ate, but she kindly dismissed his proposal. She sent him away, but not before questioning her father's whereabouts, to which he shook his head sadly—and company eluded the girl yet again. Lentil soup filled her belly quickly, no longer able to ignore the ache in her stomach, and she took a few bites of laffa then headed out to take a stroll.

Thirty minutes into her walk and she had circled the palace full swing. Her legs tired easily today, and she rested at an ivory bench underneath a fruit tree. Spirited winds caressed her skin, flapping the thin fabric of her violet dress as it did, a slight chill amongst its warmth announced summer was drawing to a close. Everything around her gave the impression of peace, vibrant blades of grass danced in harmony while birds flew high above, ducking into the peak of the sun and she wished so desperately to fly with them.

A throat cleared and Jasmine jolted, startled as she turned her face upwards. Razoul's features were blackened from the brightness of the afternoon sun, his face only coming into view as he blocked the light from Jasmine's eyes.

"Princess,"

"Razoul…"

"May I?"

Her weight shifted on the bench as he sat.

"Beautiful day, isn't it?"

"I'm not in the mood for small talk."

Another light breeze blew between them.

"Go tend to Jafar, Razoul … I'm sure he'll have some scandalous work for you to do, like tossing out the Princess's suitor. Oh, wait- that's right…" She clasped her hands in front of her, then stuck her nose up in the air hoping the guard would disappear.

"I didn't have a choice, Princess."

She snorted through her nose.

"It's the truth! Princess I would do nothing to harm you or Sultan Hamed. Not by choice, anyway."

"Ah, so it's completely out of your control? You won't take responsibility for your own actions is all I hear. Jafar is _not_ your leader yet you bowed to his whim."

"Yes, it is out of my control. Just as it is out of your control to marry Jafar, coronating him as Sultan of Agrabah."

Jasmine slunk inward heaving a shaky breath.

"You, my Princess, are brave. Her majesty would sacrifice her life to save the people she loves and to keep Agrabah at peace."

"Exactly." She faced him now swinging her knees to the side. "I gave up any sense of self-preservation to protect others. You gave up protecting others in self-preservation. That boy from the marketplace will _die_ left out in the streets. Don't tell me you didn't have a choice!"

"And that's why you will make one hell of a Queen." The heat pulled beads of sweat to Razoul's brow. "I am a coward Princess. I caved. Panicked. I did what I was told. Following orders, that's all I've been trained to do, and I did them."

A lock of black hair came loose as Jasmine shook her head in disappointment. The heels of her hands pressed firmly into the bench as if her anger was being channeled through the motion.

"My grace, I came here to apologize and beg your forgiveness. I do not wish to offend you further. But you should be fair warned, I am a royal guard, and will serve and protect the Sultan, above all else. No matter how wrongly he came into power."

A few moments passed. All that could be said had been. Razoul turned to go then paused, remembering something that could ensure his loyalty to Jasmine. The robust guard whispered something against her gold-plated earrings, then turned back, his muscular features disappearing inside the palace.

Rays of sun bounced off pearl teeth as Jasmine lit up excitedly.


	4. Chapter 4

**There are no words to describe the wonderment of an Arabian night. For as the sun sinks deep into the horizon, a supernatural world comes alive. Skies melt from purple to blood red in a smoothness quit slick. The blackness of night impenetrably thick. A mountainous stature of twinkling begins, each mystical light that of departed family and friends. Everything seems calm, tranquil and right, not a voice is heard this Arabian night. Except for the muffled hushed cry of a princess. Her slender curves hidden beneath raven tresses. The moon climbs above her spying down below as he counts every tear; well he, along with an evil vizier.**

* * *

Extremities of desert heat were nothing compared to the freezing bitterness of night, and Jafar hated the cold. He had spent far too many hours in darkness as a boy, shivering half to death, curled up on a dirt packed floor alone. Now as he stood outside on the palace's substantial balcony, Jafar tightened his core refusing to let the chill keep him from viewing this award-winning moment.

Jafar threw his shoulders back in stiff submission, watching Jasmine in amusement as she cried against the steel palace gates. From this height the Vizier spotted a scrawny boy on the opposite side of the fence, mirroring Jasmine's actions as he leant against the entrance to the palace. _Aladdin_. The little fucker. Jafar gritted his teeth until they made a gut-wrenching sound, causing Iago to shudder as he perched atop his master.

The parrot had fled earlier that night after Abu, literally, was turned into an instrument. Having not known how far Jafar was willing to go, Iago hurried in terror, to avoid being next. Now he'd only come out of hiding when it seemed Jafar was back to normal – well, 'normal' for Jafar – but as his master scowled at Jasmine below, Iago worried he'd come back a little too soon. He opted to get Jafar's mind off the Princess.

"So… the Princess…" he rolled his eyes at himself having failed to change the subject at all.

"What about her?" Jafar's teeth glued together as he muttered.

"She's a handful—"

"Nothing I haven't already endured."

"Right… But she's not in charge anymore, you are…. yet… she's still making demands of you…" Iago hesitated.

"I can handle a little girl, Iago." Dark eyes locked onto Jasmine as he spoke and Iago feared his master wasn't grasping the gravity of the situation.

"Right, just… She told you to spare Aladdin, and there he is. Just like _she_ wanted. _Alive_…"

"What are you implying, bird," he growled unimpressed with Iago's power of perception.

"Nothing… Just wondering if now would be a good time to carry through with our original plan of domination?"

Jafar inhaled deeply through his nostrils turning back inside the throne room.

"I'm only suggesting a cliff to quicker rid us of this problem. Well, both problems." Iago motioned with his beak to Jasmine.

"_No_, Iago." Jafar snapped, then rolled his neck in composure. "It would be foolish to kill our only means to win over Agrabah. Besides, genuinely wedding the shrew has more merit than you comprehend; though I don't expect your tiny mind to fathom basic concepts."

Iago moved past the slight with a wince. "Well then, what about him?" Iago squawked half disappointed Jafar was going back on their original plans, "He deserves to plummet to his death. Think of all the horrible biscuits he shoved in my mouth. Blah. Disgusting! You've had your fun Jafar, now let me have mine!"

Jafar drawled irritated, "Calm yourself Iago… the halfwit is of more use to us _alive_."

"Are you serious!? Jafar, look at him: eyes droopy, mouth drooling, old age has eaten away his mind! The Sultan's even madder than you."

Jafar bent forward, dark eyes leveling with distant grey ones, and smiled devilishly.

"Nonsense, Iago," Jafar searched the familiar round face, "He's still in there… aren't you, my old friend?"

With sparked interest, Iago landed on the arms of the throne and leaned closer towards the two men. Jafar spoke in such a notorious way Iago squirmed.

"Tell me, your highness, how did it feel to watch your precious daughter groveling at my feet? Begging me like a dog begs for scraps. Obviously, she inherits your _weakness_." The last word left his mouth with an exaggerated hissing sound.

Over several days Jafar had been slowly slipping poison into Hamed's drinks. Its effects had only taken place the night before and Hamed could hardly move let alone speak anymore. Stubby fingers had lost their ability to move, his mouth frozen agape and mind in a comatose state; but those lost dreary eyes were the worst. To gaze into them was like being swallowed by your own nightmares: the suffocation of being buried alive as soil clogged your throat. Their brown color glossed over with murky grey fog. Such a dead stare disturbed Iago.

Jafar remained, however, rooted and unfazed.

"But that fire…" Jafar moaned deep in the back of his throat closing his eyes as if tasting something sweet before opening them again, "Now _that_ she gets from her mother."

For the first time all night the Sultan's eyes darted knowingly to his traitorous Vizier; Iago gave a shriek in surprise, his own gaze widened, darting back and forth from Jafar to the suddenly alert Sultan.

Jafar sneered adding, "But Jasmine is far more beautiful than the Sultana was," and leaned in close. "I wonder if Jasmine exceeds her mother in _other_ ways, as well. I'll find out soon enough if our Princess Jasmine tastes creamier, feels more decadent, than Sahara did..."

"Aghh!" A blob of white lunged forward, the Sultan using all his might to attack his offender, but Jafar swiftly stood to full height as he dodged the assault. Hamed met dead air and smacked his face hard into the marbled floor; pride smarting worse than the impact.

Without warning two robust guards barged into the throne room and restrained the elderly man. As one pinned Hamed's stubby arms and legs the other brutally pried open his mouth. Iago, perched once more at Jafar's shoulders and watched as three drops of dark fluid leaked from a glass vile into the Sultan's throat. Within seconds a docile state took over, seducing the former sultan into oblivion once more. Knowing already what was expected, each guard carried Hamed into the hallway and out of sight.

Blue and red feathers ruffled as Iago shivered at this newfound level of intimidation. He had wanted to kill the Sultan in a free fall. Splattering Hamed seemed, at the time, utterly evil. However, after seeing the torture Hamed was enduring Iago knew an abrupt death would have been far less cruel.

* * *

That very next day Jafar had plunged into piles of paperwork. Sifting through scrolls, laws, records, trading agreements, a list of goods and taxes. He'd been so consumed in updating himself with Agrabah's issues Jafar remained locked away in his studies since breakfast. Having skipped lunch in the process Jafar needed to replenish himself to be of any value. He still had finances to go through, not to mention the letters of threats of war, marriage proposals to Jasmine, and complaints of the citizens of Agrabah; over three hundred people had requested confrontation with Hamed over their disputes, this month alone. And all had gone unanswered.

Jafar should've rid himself of Hamed years ago, perhaps then there would be less crap for him to deal with now. Then he could've enjoyed his first day as ruler, with less shit ruining this glorious moment of power. Still, Jafar worked a few hours longer, the sun dipping back behind the far-off mountains. Only when a bald servant announced supper was ready, did Jafar break away from his task. With a wave of his hand he sent the man away, the servant bowing deeply as he backed away, and Jafar forced himself away from his desk and headed to the dining hall.

Several tall candlesticks decorated the massive hand carved table in a row of six, each space between them decorated with sizzling decadent foods: vegetables, lamb, bread, hummus, poultry, all doused in spices and herbs. Four Servants waited wordlessly on either side of the room, heads bowed and hands folded in front of their laps whilst two guards stood facing outwardly of the dining room; everyone appeared to avoid any eye contact with their new ruler. Which would normally make Jafar gloat with pride. But tonight, he recognized the help's awkward stiffness wasn't just because their fear of his power: They were hiding something.

Jasmine still hadn't shown up for dinner, and the food hardened against the silver. Jafar lined the brim of his wine glass staring aimlessly at her empty chair. His aggravation sprouted rapidly with each passing minute. A wickedly delicious thought ran through his mind; her young, beautiful body slammed against the table while he fucked her from behind. Her nails would dig deep into the mahogany as she tried to steady herself against the violent pounding of his cock. It would be a taste of the punishment to follow if ever she kept him waiting again. Jafar could feel himself harden as he imagined her before him, wet, helpless, and in pain. Flicking a hot tongue over his lips the Acting Sultan adjusted in his seat, the swell of his penis growing uncomfortably large. He wanted her _now_. Whatever scandalous act she was committing behind his back, he would find out. And if he found her with that street rat, he would bleed her dry and hang her corpse outside the palace walls as a warning to all of Agrabah.

Razoul stepped forward once the Acting Sultan had summoned him. Jafar drank of his red wine eyeing the robust man over the edge of his glass. The guard puffed out his brawny chest then bowed staring at the floor as he spoke, "Most worthy Sultan, how may I be of service."

Jafar rolled his eyes, knowing all too well how fake Razoul's courtesies were. He'd played the false servant for too many years to know Razoul despised him. He prefered it as such anyway. Jafar commanded Razoul rise; it wasn't satisfying to threaten a man without looking him straight in the eyes. That was where the soul opened and spilled every dirty secret.

Taking note, Razoul noticed how fitted Jafar was to be a malevolent ruler. From the way, he carried himself, owning his surroundings, to the way he drank wine like he was sucking blood from an infant; everything concerning Jafar screamed inhumanity. And Razoul desperately wanted to look away from the maniac, afraid the vizier would steal his soul.

"Where is she?"

"_She_ your majesty?" Razoul played dumb and Jafar's mouth twitched in irritation.

"Don't play coy with me, fool. I know she's avoiding me, and I want to know where she's gone off to."

"She—ah." Razoul showed large teeth and raised a finger to the air as if just now catching on, "Princess Jasmine?" Razoul nodded his head and smiled pleasantly, still dodging the Vizier's question even as Jafar's features turned vicious.

"And?" His lips clamped together, eyes flashing threats of annihilation.

A long moment of silence passed, Razoul looking dumfounded. "I apologize your majesty, but I'm afraid I have forgotten the question."

Jafar nodded his head once, the thickness of his brows rising as if understanding, and pushed himself up from the table, took his scepter in hand, and walked smoothly towards the captain of the guard. Razoul clenched his teeth to keep them from rattling; he would stall for as long as he could, for the Princess, but if push came to shove, he might not keep up his pretense.

"Razoul you are, somewhat, of an intelligent man. Head of the Royal Guard, a faithful servant, a man with a healthy sense of preservation." The space lessened between the two, Jafar's exceptional sadistic ability present in the way he carried himself—ruthless and frightening. "Am I supposed to believe a simple _girl_ has duped you into playing one of her little games?"

Razoul thought punching Jafar in the face would be a practical option, then recanted the notion, knowing he wouldn't survive to brag about such a minute victory. Still, it would feel impeccable to get just one slug in.

The ruby eyes of the snake staff glowed brightly, Jafar raising the scepter thoughtfully to the side of Razoul's face. No matter his massive size in strength, the guard whimpered like a child, closing his eyes at the feel of the cold hard metal.

"Now tell me where she is. Or I'll turn you into the rodent you are and allow the hawks a taste."

* * *

To execute her plan in good timing, Jasmine waited until the light of day turned into a blood red wave signaling the beginning of nightfall. Razoul promised Jasmine he'd occupy Jafar long as possible, hopefully enough time for her to get in and out. Now anxiously she waited behind a pillar, watching the glow of light from Jafar's study. Why hadn't he left for dinner? If Jafar skipped it altogether, as with lunch, then who knew when her next opportunity would arise. She rubbed the lower muscles in her back, feeling the ache from crouching in an awkward position for so long, and wondered if she should give up and try again tomorrow night.

Then, a servant scooted across the grandeur hall, his grey woolen thobe swishing as he walked, his hands covered by long bellowing sleeves, and his waist pulled together by a brown sash. The servant from lunch. He had worked in the palace for several years, but she paid no attention to him before. None of the servants to be exact. She never saw their faces, never learned their names—if servants even had names—and Jasmine felt a pang of slight guilt. Maybe she had taken everyone for granted, always assuming she was all that mattered. Jasmine winced at her own vanity.

As the bald-headed man led her intended away from his study and to the dining hall, Jasmine sighed relieved, and made a mental note to learn the names of the people working in the palace.

_Through the opium din, follow straight back to the center of the farthest wall. There is a secret passageway that will lead you into Jafar's secret tower._

Dashing through the opium din, musky incense welcomed her as did the memory of the last time she'd been here:

_She had been furious with her father's vizier, temper blazing and heart pounding violently. She was ready to rip him a new one for arresting the boy from the marketplace. Jafar mocked her anger, bowing deeply as he spread out his cape behind him._

_"The guards just took a boy from the marketplace, on your orders." Her mouth had nearly touched his long mysterious neck as she raised on her toes to assert her authority. The thought of kissing him beneath that cloth distracted her for a moment._

_"Why, your father has charged me with keeping peace in Agrabah, and the boy was a criminal."_

Jasmine shivered at the recollection of how Jafar had tricked her into believing Aladdin was executed. That stunt should have gotten him beheaded. Her gold slippers hurried to where Razoul had instructed, feeling along the smooth crimson wall for a button, or a lever of any kind, but to no avail.

Every nerve in her being was on edge realizing that time was slipping quickly from her. The longer she took, the more likely Jafar would find her sneaking around, and she shuddered to think of what punishment he might have in store for her. She let a disgruntled groan escape as she turned her head upwards, her hands resting impatiently on her hips. Then she saw it. A gilded lantern dangled just above her head, its elongated tassel delicate, and she smiled mischievously as she raised on the tips of her toes and pulled down on the fringe, hard.

A hidden door slid swiftly with a whoosh, revealing a passageway of winding stairs. Sparkling teeth shone widely against the poorly lit room; a sense of pride and accomplishment pulling at the corners of her mouth as Jasmine stepped forward, cautiously. Landing on the first step triggered the door to whizz shut behind her, everything engulfed by thick blackness. Her ascent was done blindly as she wound up the stairwell with hands as her eyes. She smoothed the rough stones with the flat of her palm, tripping over her feet now and again until she smacked flat against an impenetrable door. Jasmine cursed, fumbling for the handle and entered the secret room.

With light emanating from a few small torches Jasmine could hardly make out her surroundings. She squinted against harsh shadows as she analyzed the organized tower. There was a large bookcase embedded into a curved wall, a singular high-backed chair, several filled vials stacked neatly on what might be an apothecary desk, scrolls rolled up and stacked neatly away. And in the center of the room was a four-foot spiraled pedestal which held an intricate hourglass; not dissimilar to the one from that fateful night when the sands nearly drowned her. Jasmine cringed at the reminder.

She walked forward, hands outstretched to feel her way around as she made sure not bump into anything. Then as promised, her hand fell through an opening along the stone walls; a passageway that was skillfully hidden beneath dark cloth, and Jasmine parted it to reveal yet another staircase. This time it led straight up instead of curving around. Her heart skipped a beat, the promise of hope almost knocking her off her feet. If he wasn't up there then Razoul was mistaken and her Baba actually was disposed of. Here was to hoping. She quickened her pace without a moment to lose and landed atop the stairs into a smaller alcove.

"Baba!" Jasmine fell alongside a small bed, squeezing Sultan Hamed's plump cold fingers. His skin was like ice, ashen to her touch, and she wondered for a moment if he actually was dead. "Baba, it's me. I'm here now, don't be afraid. I won't ever let him hurt you again. I promise to never leave your side, Baba! Just hang on a little longer."

Jasmine looked around for something to help her hoist her Baba and carry him down the massive sets of stairs, but found nothing beside a small table, and the bed in which her father lay. Trying to keep the worry from her voice Jasmine spoke gently, rubbing the back of her Baba's wrinkled hand.

"It's okay, I'll get you out of here. We'll get out, I promise."

She stood to her feet, showering Hamed's hand with little kisses, promising to keep him safe and bring him back to his own bed chambers where they could hide away from Jafar. But she stopped. A familiar biting voice came from behind.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Princess."

Jasmine spun around on her heel, dropping her father's unresponsive hand. Jafar shook a finger side to side.

"What a naughty _pussy_cat you are."

"Jafar! I –I…"

"Don't belong in here."

"I've only come for my father."

Jafar's face darkened as the flickering candlelight sharpened the angles of his nose and mouth. He was truly sinister. "You are _trespassing_."

"Ha," Her frightful demeanor changed to one of defiance as her bottom jaw jutted forward. "This is _my_ palace. If anyone has trespassed it's—"

**"**_Agrabah_ was my dwelling place long before your mother spawned you, little beast. This _palace_ my home since before you were sucking at her tit!"

"Don't…" she bit her lip when it trembled, "Do not talk about my mother. Never speak of her again! You're far too unworthy to—"

"What a stupid girl you are." Jafar mocked. "Do you not know I have spoken _Sahara's_ name a hundred times over? And a thousand and one times she had screamed mine." Oh, the pain on Jasmine's face was priceless.

"Liar… You're sick!" Both stepped closer to the other, the cobra and mongoose sizing up as they strategized their attacks.

"Am I, little mouse?" Jafar had a way of remaining coolheaded when he knew he was winning.

_Little mouse_? That felt like a strange downgrade from an already demeaning pet name. She was more than a timid little mouse, and she'd prove it to him.

"Ah, Princess, don't look so dismayed. It wasn't Sahara's fault the Sultan was too childish and _fat_ to satisfy her needs. No one can blame the Sultana for coming to her husband's Vizier, night after night. Dripping wet between her legs, begging for me to _taste_ her. To have a _real_ man to slide inside her—"

_*WHACK*_

Before she could think, she reacted. The flat of her palm sounded like a whip cracking as she smacked Jafar clean across his face. His composure remained in control, but he couldn't deny the stinging burn against his skin.

_There's that fire!_ Jafar sneered, soaking up how enjoyable her fury was. He adjusted his jaw with a mighty hand. He could end her now. Chain her to the stones and fuck her until she bled to death as her father watched. It was nothing less than what the little beast deserved.

Jasmine's entire body quivered, especially the pit of her stomach, as she beheld the man she would soon have to marry. He looked like he might kill her, and she braced herself for impact, but nothing came, his expression returning to stone cold nothingness.

"Be grateful I have allowed your father any _shred_ of mercy—keeping him alive in such a pathetic condition." His stone chest pressed against her soft breasts as he pinned her to the wall with his warm body. Sharp fingers gripped Jasmine's chin as he forced her to meet him.

"If you wish your father to remain healthy, I suggest you change your disposition towards me, or the old fool will spend his last pitiful moments chained in the dungeons!"

Crystal tears paraded over her flushed cheeks, her bottom lip pursed and quivering. She didn't care what she looked like anymore, how ugly her tears made her appear. She hated this. Hated him. For the first time, Jasmine needed to accept she was powerless. That no one was safe because of her, and she couldn't protect the people she loved. She smacked away his grip on her face, and pushed on his chest with all her strength, which was minuscule compared to Jafar's. Jafar allowed her to pass as Jasmine ran blurry eyed down two sets of stairs, through the echoing corridors and out into the palace gardens.

* * *

_"You know I can't make that promise -" Aladdin said mournfully._

_Crickets chirped inside the cracks of the palace wall._

_His ribs were more than likely broken along with his nose and possibly his collar bone. He knew his eyes must be blood shot having suffocated half to death, and his head felt like it was ready to explode. Such incessant crying was the last thing Aladdin could handle. Why must she be so selfish? Sobbing uncontrollably over their failed relationship while Jafar beat Aladdin half to death and would probably die by the end of the week. Didn't she care about anyone besides herself…_

_The cold gate soothed his aching temple as he leaned forward pressing into it, tired. What more was there to do. He made his wishes. He lost his djinn and the palace. Jasmine was gorgeous and amazing in every way, and he loved her. But he lost her too. To think otherwise, was, well… childish. And he wasn't sure he would survive another duel with her crazy vizier._

_"You say that, but you don't mean it." The princess broke their silence, and Aladdin hesitated to speak. Too exhausted to do so._

_"Aladdin, I know you love me. And you know how much I love you… I will wait for you, for as long as it takes for us to be together again. All I am asking is that you to do the same. Promise me this isn't over. That you have faith in our love, faith to hold on despite the evil against us."_

_He breathed lightly, each movement crushing against his gut, "It seems the entire universe is against us, Jasmine."_

_He could hear more sobbing followed by broken sniffles. It hurt to hear her crying because of him. Almost as bad as the pain in his face. He wanted to promise her sweet nothings, kiss her beautiful face and tell her it would all work out. Everything would be all right and he could wait for her forever._

_He loved her, didn't he? Jasmine was the first to treat Aladdin like a human being instead of a slimy rat. Prince or no, Jasmine belonged with him, and no one, no matter how psychotic, would impede that. But before he could confess any of this Aladdin was pulled away by a palace guard._

* * *

For the second night in a row, Jasmine was sitting on the ground, legs drawn up to greet her forehead as it rested upon her knees. Princess Jasmine reminisced the last conversation between her and the only man she loved. It seemed all she could do lately was fall into uncontrollable sobs. Last night she wanted to be strong. Thought she could assume the role of protector and powerful queen in a battle of good versus evil. Normally she would have won. Would have thrusts her authority in Jafar's face, called him a filthy dirt bag and walked away unharmed and unafraid. But he had stopped playing by the rules. He held all the cards now and only he knew how to win the game.

If only Aladdin were here. He would know what to do. If only he had promised to never give up she would have the strength to carry on. Red watery eyes lifted from the crook of her safe haven, watching now the great fruit tree in front of her. The same tree she had climbed earlier that week so she could sneak out of her condemned palace life.

Then something caught her attention. A yellow piece of paper flapping in the night breeze as it stuck its head out from the palace wall. Jasmine scanned the yard praying that no prying eyes were watching her from around the corner; or from atop secret tower windows, and slid to her left, back pressing against the gritty wall.

Parchment made from goatskin had been shoved from the opposite side of the wall through a rather large crack. Jasmine slid it from its cubby with anxious hands. One word is all Jasmine needed to send her heart soaring. The back of her soft hand wiped away old tears. Then Jasmine turned, carefully holding the note, and bounded back inside the palace.

Was there a time limit when it came to love? Could distance, obstacles, or powers of earth separate two people who belonged together? Absolutely not. Jasmine had asked Aladdin to wait for her. Told him there would be a way to be together so long as they both believed it. And as the Princess slipped into her bed chambers, combed out her hair, and pulled on her nightgown, she knew without a shadow of a doubt, that Aladdin loved her as much as she loved him, and now they had their own secret way of communicating. A soft scrunching noise came, Jasmine clinging to the tiny scroll like it was her lifeline.

_'Yes_.' Was all it said.

That was all the affirmation Jasmine needed to sleep peacefully with new hopes and dreams. She would be together with Aladdin again someday, and they would defeat Jafar and take back the kingdom.


	5. Chapter 5: Quality In Wife

Jasmine sat on a daybed, leaning into its turquoise patterns while looking out the balcony, white fluffy clouds taunting her with their freedom. Two weeks passed since Jasmine last saw her Baba in that tower. Hope grew weary. She exhausted every avenue to convince Jafar to let Hamed go and utterly failed each time. Jasmine simply wanted Baba back in his bed chambers where she might keep an eye on him and visit freely. Hamed's foreign illness would not improve soon and Jasmine wanted as much time with him as possible. To be able to hold him until his last moments.

At first Jasmine, did what she did best: pout. It always worked in the past.

By age ten Jasmine would whine, stomp a foot, cross her arms, turn away with eyes closed and pursed lips. All would rectify whatever ailed the Princess. For example, Jasmine once splashed fountain water in Baba's face as a show of indignation to an arranged marriage. It worked then. Jasmine was right to assume such triviality worked now too.

However, past incidents proved incorrect when it came to Jafar. Even while second in command of Agrabah Jafar found a way to challenge whatever Jasmine threw at him. Now that she was his prisoner, matters only worsened.

But she wasn't fourteen anymore. Hell, she wasn't even in charge nowadays. Jafar alone held power over her and anyone in Agrabah. Though Jasmine should know better than to reenact predictable antics, old habits died hard. Jasmine smacked Jafar across the face during a shouting match then stormed off unscathed; Jafar yanked Jasmine by the back of her ponytail and forced her around again. Spit sprayed over her lips as he spat out each syllable.

"If you ever pull that childish shit on me again, Allah as my witness I will cut out your tongue and fuck you with it."

So, maybe now, she was somewhat lacking in power, or — lacking plentifully, but still she refused to be defeated. If he thought idle threats meant anything to her, she would prove him wrong. Arguing, pouting, it all failed which only meant there was room for growth in the trade of persuasion. From the start of this tyrannical bull shit, Jasmine learned just how important respect was to the snake; and she had sought to destroy it.

Perhaps is she'd known the agony intertwined with that choice, she would have chosen a different path; but it was too late for that, and yesterday clenched at her heart, mind sliding back to the past twenty-four hours.

* * *

Her intended—that lanky fucker—had been in a meeting most of the morning running into high noon. Ambassadors and Generals, or some such basic bullshit which Jasmine failed to care about, had come in from neighboring countries to settle disputes and make agreements with the new acting sultan. Midday sun pierced tan cheeks, encompassing the disgruntled Princess as her teeth ground in irritation; she stood at the end of the upper corridor having been given strict orders to stay away from the room where a meeting was taking place. This was her home dammit, yet she was shunned from entering whatever room she pleased, i.e. the Great Hall. It had been deemed _strictly forbidden_, according to Jafar. Not that she ever wanted to go in there under normal circumstances, but today she did. After all, the Princess of Agrabah should be allowed to go wherever the hell she felt like.

"You are prohibited from entering the Great Hall. Under **no**," Jasmine had jumped at the booming _no_, "circumstances will you even breathe the surrounding air." She remembered their one-sided conversation from that morning. Surely that man knew better than to forbade her from doing anything; why else then would Jafar tell her to not enter a part of her own home if it weren't to be taken as a challenge? Perhaps calling her little mouse so many times had made him believe his own lie—that she was a timid little pet to be played with. He ruined her entire life in two short weeks, then put her in a box and told her to shut up and stay out of sight. Well, she'd show him what happens when a caged tiger is poked.

Two guards, no more than twenty, recoiled as Jasmine stomped up to their post giving them a deathly stare, daring them to stop her. When they stepped aside quickly, she busted open the grand doors with a whoosh, the action forcing a gust of wind to shuffle the papers over the elongated table. "Jafar," came the demand upon entering, and she was pleased how grandeur the arrival played out. All eyes suddenly turned from Jafar, who sat rigidly at his post, and down at the opposite end of the room towards the tenacious girl; slender hips cocked to one side while her fists dug into the ocher wood conveying unchallenged dominance.

Jafar's mouth fell open.

"Oh, you can close your mouth, darling, _I'm_ the only one who will be speaking. I command you, servant of the true Sultan, to set my father Hamed free from the prison _you_ trapped him in. Which is in his secret tower in the west wing, if you weren't aware." Jasmine nodded to the elderly men studying her then back again. "It's time to shut this pathetic charade down, immediately. You're not of noble birth, you're an _assistant_, and when I am done with you, you'll be lucky if you find work scooping horse dung." Jasmine straightened, lifting her chin in immeasurable confidence. "So, get to it, **now** – By order of the Princess!"

The elderly men slow turned back to the other end, all eyes scrutinizing, judging Jafar and his ability to control a woman, let alone an entire kingdom. Jasmine read the disapproval on their faces just from the back of their heads, but the guise on Jafar's face was unrecognizable. It should have shut her up yet she felt compelled to add salt.

"Is that understood, _boy_?"

A raise of his eyebrow gave the only indication he'd even heard her. Jafar's lips pressed into a forced smile as he excused himself for a moment. With a wave of his hand hors d'oeuvres and wine were brought to the table; Jafar and Jasmine's absence quickly forgotten as the gentlemen ate cheerfully.

The echo sounded all over Agrabah, if they didn't hide away in a private palace room, when Jasmine's shoulder smacked into the marbled ground, Jafar shutting them inside with dim faint shadows.

"What the hell, Jafar!?"

"Hold your tongue, wench." Jafar barked, Jasmine pulling herself up to face him.

A sliver of light shone in from the two allotted windows, casting sharp beams about the otherwise suffocating enclosure. As Jafar passed through the first stream of light and back again into the shadows, he looked like an apparition. Faintly she was able to make out the broad width of his shoulders, dramatic clothing adding to his unusual T-shape. She hadn't realized she was backing away until she found herself submerged beneath the second beam of light. Why was she cowering? Jasmine rooted herself to that spot in preparation for a battle.

The crown of her head glimmered with streaks of azure, accenting each raven strand, as she froze under a beam of light. Her hair was different today, having allowed it to cascade freely, though the jeweled headpiece still sat in its usual position. Jafar knew Jasmine barely saw him in the shadows and he preferred it that way. He needed a moment to look at her, knowing she couldn't read him. How cliché, and yet completely accurate: Jasmine shimmering in the light while he remained swallowed up in shadows; each element representing them perfectly. Jasmine was purity and beauty, even the glow of an Arabian summer paled against her lively spirit. While all he had left in him was death: his spirit the epitome of a rotting corpse.

Jasmine crossed her arms feigning superiority–secretly shielding herself against the bitter bite of dread—and sat into her hips. Jasmine heard footsteps slow and precise as Jafar circled like a vulture. Embarrassment, that's what it boiled down to. She had ruined the Vizier's self-esteem by bruising his ego. No doubt he intended to cast more empty threats. A famous scare tactic of his which now was proving insipidly overused.

"Satisfied with yourself, little mouse?

Jasmine's eyes remained forward.

"That must have been _so_ damn liberating to get off your chest, Mm? Assuming, of course, that you understood the amount of damage such a childish outburst would cause."

She was indeed please with herself and said so by insensibly rolling her bare shoulders.

"The true irony, however, is the damage _you've_ inflicted upon yourself. You see… If all went well today, it would have put me in a good mood. And I would have been more than compliant in releasing your father."

Jasmine's eyes widened when Jafar came from behind. He smiled devilishly against her skin and Jasmine realized she'd ruined everything.

"I hope you received pleasure from it, because you just fucked us _both_."

Suddenly Jafar curled bony fingers around her slender neck. His hands overlapping as he mercilessly squeezed. Jasmine's frantically clawed, drawing blood from the massive claws that bound her. She wheezed a pitiful scream before falling into unwilling silence.

Jafar's long nose pressed into the back of her scalp, breathing deeply her spiced aroma. "It pains me to reduce you to this mouse," Aching senses left her numb, the only feeling she registered was the deep strumming vibration as Jafar growled in ragged breaths. "I can no longer deny the overwhelming temptation I've had to wring your neck; the amount of fantasies I've endured, envisioning your wind pipes crushing beneath my fingers."

The thickness of his cock pressed into the small of her back, his grip tightening, forcing her to fall dead weighted against him. Their bodies melted together, yet everything seemed strangely distant as Jasmine slipped out of consciousness. With the bud of his thumbs, Jafar smoothed over the slender muscles at the back of her neck, the slowed thumping of life pulsated against him. Letting out a pleasured moan Jafar closed his eyes, savoring the moment as Jasmine's almond eyes disappeared into the back of her head; her light devoured into dark nothingness.

* * *

Two hand maidens bathed the young woman, a warm cloth against bare skin alerted Jasmine back to consciousness. Visions shakily formed into clear images and her eyes fell on a pile of clothes as a girl scooped them up carefully, removing them from the room. Utter dismay washed over draining whatever color was left from her skin. She had soiled herself. Having been so close to death her body excreted as it shut down. No doubt Jafar noticed her condition as she lay lifeless in her own filth. All of a sudden, she'd wished he had just been merciful and finished the job. Humiliate the sorcerer and he will return the favor tenfold. She would remember to never consider him indolent, ever again.

* * *

Still sitting on the cushions, Jasmine trembled as if reliving the experience all over again. Since yesterday afternoon, having escaped what she was sure was attempted murder, Jasmine remained hidden in the sanctity of her chambers, too ashamed to see him face to face. Probably for the rest of her life. And, if she was being completely honest with herself, she was utterly and inconsolably terrified of the man who lived down the hall. Usually Jasmine would write her notes to Aladdin in the afternoon and then deliver them after the sun had gone down. But last night she was too weak to do so, and today she lacked the desire to even pick up a quill. What would she tell Aladdin, anyway? There was nothing but misery here laced with promises of doom. It was better to not say anything at all for now. Besides, she couldn't risk bumping into Jafar and getting caught. There would be no way for her to survive a second strangling twice in twenty-four hours.

It stung badly under the slightest touch of her fingertips, as Jasmine watched herself in the vanity, tracing the patterns around her neck. His mark was evident on her, dark bruises outlining where his hands had been, claiming the rest of her gullibility. She wasn't even married to him yet but everyone in the palace knew who she belonged to. The entire city of Agrabah must know it too. Despite how it tasted like vinegar in her mouth, she whispered to herself, "_Him_… it all belongs to _him_. I belong to him-" She wanted to cry, Allah knew she was more than capable of letting go until she was dried out; but no tears came and she couldn't help but feel it was better this way.

Dark heavy circles pulled her eyes inward, their almond shape sinking behind pronounced cheekbones, lack of appetite the past couple weeks was rapidly aging her appearance. Or perhaps it was the amount of stress and anxiety she'd endured in such a short amount of time. Even the golden pigments of skin had faded into a dull ashen color. It wouldn't surprise her if she found white hairs on her head as well; but so far there were none.

She wondered what her father would say if he could see her now. The way every outfit she wore fit more loosely over her frame, her bruised skin and a small scar where her lip had been busted open during that first night. How much more innocence would she have to lose when she'd lost so much already. Sultan Hamed, that sweet man, might be all she had left in the world. She needed him more than anyone else right now. It was her fault he was still stuck in that cold dark room; given of course that Jafar was truthful when he said he'd considered letting him go, until she ruined it.

With a deep inhale, Jasmine's reflection stared back at her with a soldier like assertion; it was time for a last-ditch effort, and her ego would be forced quiet. A large gathering of hair clumped in her hands, slipping out at one side when attempting to gather up the other; it was beyond impossible to pull that amount of hair into a high ponytail on her head, at least by her own accord. Two young maidens came to the rescue, thankfully, working as a team to fashion their Princess's hair into a high ponytail. They soaked the dangling strands with sweet oil then adorned the crest of her head with small diamonds and a brilliant purple, rhinestone, flower comb. She powdered her neck, covering, to the best of her ability, the unsightly marks, then added a light blush to her cheeks, and charcoal to her tired eyes, bringing back color to her skin. Jasmine shimmied into her favorite violet dress which, to her relief, still clung tightly at her breasts and hips, and flowed elegantly around her feet. She definitely looked older than sixteen, she decided looking herself over. She wasn't perfect anymore, just weathered, but it would have to suffice, and Jasmine headed down the corridor to the master bed chambers where Jafar would most likely be.

A quick rapping at the door echoed all too loudly around the grand halls. The young woman looked around anxiously to see if any guards or servants had heard. She didn't want to draw any attention to herself, all dolled up entering the evil sorcerer's bed chambers; but sweet mercy allowed the halls to be deserted. After a long moment, she knocked again, a little more impatiently, earning a murmur of irritation from the man on the other side before a gruff approval summoned her to turn the handle.

_Shit._

Jasmine peeked in around the door, still hiding behind it, but couldn't bring herself to walk in any further. Facing Jasmine's direction, Jafar sat at a massive desk, with scrolls, parchments, and books covering it in neat stacks. To his right was a dark bed, coated with fine pelt black blankets, the head board decorated in red jewels and, what looked like a snake's open mouth, had been carved high above the entire frame. The fireplace snapped, spitting fire into the air as flames rose and fell in steady repetition; their amber glow bouncing off Jafar's scrunched face as he remained glued to the work in front of him. But the dark room wasn't what made Jasmine afraid, in fact the room surprisingly held a certain warmth to it.

What made her mouth run dry and her feet glued was the sight of him—casual, and practically naked, in comparison to his usual attire; the vizier-costume and serpent staff leaning neatly at a far corner of the room. Onyx Egyptian cotton hugged his torso and arms, a large slit splayed down the middle of his chest revealing taut muscles and smooth skin. He was still broad shouldered, even without that stupid vizier outfit, but he seemed more human now, and somehow even more alarming. A different turban was wrapped neatly around his head, but there were no draping's covering his neck, no yellow turtle neck, and no dramatic red feather. Just black fabric, and a ruby held in the middle to keep it together. She'd never seen so much of Jafar, ever. And her theories of him being a creepy alien had been shot to hell, which now made it difficult to approach him.

"Jafar?"

He refused to look up at her as he spoke briskly, "What is it you want?"

Damn, he couldn't make anything easy, and she fumbled for a conversation starter, "What are you doing?" God, she hated herself.

"I'm extremely busy, so whatever it is you want, it needs to wait until tomorrow."

Crap. He was still pissed at her for yesterday, but he needed to get over it. Far worse was done to her, and she was putting it aside, for now. Why the hell couldn't he just look at her? Her body could always speak better than her mouth.

"What if what I want is you?" Hm, that came out smoother than she thought.

Dark eyes shot up from under hooded lids; the piercing stare startling. Finally, she had his full attention. "What game are you playing at, mouse?"

Thick groomed brows raised innocently; Jasmine leaned into the doorway, arm raised against the entrance, as she elongated her body, smoothing her curves with a free hand. "I thought you liked games, Jafar."

"Interesting," a paper fell gently onto the desk, Jafar reclining back intrigued by her proposition and elicit turn of events; he allowed his gaze to soak up the juice of her glorious figure. If this was the reward he got for punishing her, he would do it more often.

She sauntered forward, "I know I've been bad, making everything so—_hard_," it was tacky she knew it, but this was a first for her, "And while I was lying in bed, thinking about you, I realized I haven't held up my end of our deal… standing by your side as Queen."

He licked his lips. What the fuck was she doing. "You aren't Queen yet, my dear." A whiff of honeyed perfume climbed inside his nostrils, clouding his brain and watering his eyes as Jasmine came around his desk, scooting smoothly atop it.

Jasmine sat adjacent to Jafar with the corner of the desk pressed uncomfortably between her legs. Briefly her foot brushed against his silk pant leg and her breath hitched at the contact. _Keep it together_, she chastised, fighting for sultriness. Apparently she was performing well because Jafar's eyes fell to the swell of her breasts, her off-shoulder gown revealing velvety cleavage. Her back arched slightly to extenuate each voluminous mound of her figure.

_Go ahead. Touch me. I know you're dying to. Or will you only allow yourself to touch me when it's to inflict pain?_

_"When _I am Queen, I'll need to know what wifely duties you'll require of me. Why not let me practice now?"

A line in his mouth deepened, "You want to know how to fuck me?"

It was hard to speak as she whispered, "I want to make sure you enjoy it—"

"—Trust me, Princess. Every second spent buried deep between those thighs will be most pleasurable. You needn't concern yourself with that," his eyes were ravenous as he watched her, images of the future playing out in his mind, "Though I can't promise the same for you little mouse."

Oh fuck… something sweet tingled between her legs at the look he gave. She never heard him speak like that unless he was using it in a threat. But it was a simple statement, so matter-of-fact, reassuring her that one day he would claim her in the most sensual way possible. How could she not enjoy it? No matter how sick she was for thinking it, she'd imagined him fucking her more times than she wanted to admit, and she studied him now fascinated to see him so exposed before her.

Those dark heady eyes were a rich mocha, accented through thick long lashes. The lines on his face expressing advanced years, a secret hidden in each of them. Jafar already explored the world, was educated and charismatic, had experienced life: a difficult life possibly considering the amount of chaos he was able to inflict on innocent lives—Something must have happened to him to create this amount of fucked up evil. Everything about him was the polar opposite compared to her youthful naivety. Then, unexpectedly, she couldn't keep from utter idiocy. How stupid was she for trying to seduce a man twice her age? What had she to offer him? She was still a child in so many ways; being inexperienced didn't even describe half of it.

_He strangled you for Allah's sake, what the hell is wrong with you? This sick bastard left you for dead making you shit yourself and then turned and left you for the maids to find. Walk away. No, don't walk. Fucking run!_

"My, my, dear. It appears _this_ scheme is not going according to plan, little mouse." Per usual Jafar was unreadable, but clearly, she had been more than obvious, revealing how seemingly out of place she'd been.

Wounded Jasmine looked away, eyes darting to her lap as mortification replaced sexual charisma. Why couldn't she have just stayed in her room instead of making a bigger moron of herself?

The heavyweight of the chair rolled across the marble as Jafar slid backwards. His feet were bare, peeking out from under his pants as they stepped into Jasmine's view, her head refusing to look up.

All in black. Skin showing. Hard working Jafar was rather sexy. And all she could do was coward beneath his presence.

A hand came around the side, resting intently where she sat, the other cupping her chin pulling free a swollen bottom lip. For an evil sorcerer, he still had too many weaknesses, Jafar clenching his jaw at the sight of her glistening pink mouth. Both their senses sharpened, the crackling fire the room's only symphony. The swell of his thumb smoothed over mouth, and she heard his tongue flick in response; she hated herself but closed her eyes against the sweet hot fluid gathering between her thighs. His hand moved from her mouth, cupping her jawline before smoothing the back of her tender neck, fisting her hair tugging it gently, and she leaned her head upwards in submission, keeping her eyes shut.

"Look at me, Jasmine."

Her own name never sounded so electrifying.

Oh Allah, he was so close. Doused with a peppered cinnamon aroma mixed with dulcet musk, and she inhaled him deeply, savoring the foreign enjoyment of being in his arms. Quietly she thanked all of heaven that she still sat on the edge of the desk, knowing she would wobble otherwise. Heavy eyelashes lifted, allowing herself to look again into the eyes of the man she loathed; yet somehow craved. Moving from the desk, strong fingers gripped at her waist, making her muscles tingle as they dug into the meat of her hip. Mindlessly Jasmine rose her own hands, smoothing the palm of them up against the muscles of his chest. Each intricate piece of fabric pulled at the ripples of her fingertips as she inched, painfully slow up his body, the destination his revealed skin. A man was underneath the beast, and she wanted every inch of him. He shoved her ass forward, scooting it further to the edge while spreading her legs with his, Jasmine gasped as the length of him pressed between her legs. She had been doing this for her father. Wanted to make Jafar softened with his guard down and then beg for her baba back. But it was hard to deny she wanted this for her own selfish reasons too.

"Do you honestly believe I'll cave because of a beautiful woman?" he breathed heavily aroused by her matched desire.

Biting her lip again, she smiled searching his eyes. "You tell me,"

Jasmine clutched his collar and pressed her breasts against the bare skin of his chest, her smooth creaminess melting against his warm swollen muscles, and she watched his mouth imagining how good those full lips must taste under her tongue.

Jafar's breath expanded in his lungs, hurting as the air stayed there, as if forgetting how to exhale.

Mm – seeing him uneasy under her control was most rewarding.

Quickly she dove in for the kiss, shock hitting like ice cold water when Jafar avoided her mouth, bringing his lips to her forehead instead, "If only you were a _woman_."

"What?" his shirt wrinkled, still gathered in her fists.

"You…" he leaned back to look at her confused stare. Loosening her grip, he undid her hands and shoved them from himself as if removing a disgusting disease, "Are not a _woman_. You're a mouse. And you will never be anything more to me than an inconvenient, scurvy little rodent."

He turned from her, walking slowly to pick up the staff, then back towards the desk to look over a textbook uninterested. All she could do was stare into the fire, mouth agape, confused tears brimming at the edge of her vision.

"You want your father back? Hm?" She refused to acknowledge him as he stood at the front of his workspace, but he knew she heard every word. "Well. I can't promise you'll ever see him again but I will promise that, should you continue these pitiful charades, grave fatality will befall you,. In the meantime, things are going to operate differently, mouse, in order for you to, how did you put it? Practice wifely duties?"

She hated how his laugh was never more than empty and shallow. How in the hell did she lower herself so much to believe she wanted him? Was she so desperate for attention? No. She refused to believe this was her own fault. Any woman in her position would've done the same. He'd stolen her lover, her father, her kingdom, her home—took away her pillars of strength and turned her into a crumbled mess. Of course, Jafar appeared attractive at the moment. He was all she had.

"Here," he threw a sack of tanned cloth in her face, "Put this on and head downstairs. Razoul will escort you with instructions—don't fucking look at me that way! This is exactly what you deserve little girl. Be grateful you haven't received worse for that stunt you pulled just now—"

"Stunt!?" What the hell was wrong with him? "It wasn't a stunt, Jafar! I came here because I wanted to talk to you. To see you."

"How dare you lie to my face, insolent little—"

"It's not a lie you stupid fucking man!" Jasmine hopped down off the desk, stomping around towards him, squeezing the garment in her hands in frustration. "Just because you're a heartless coward and you've never let someone close enough to be able to want you, doesn't mean it's my goddamn fault you are the way you are!"

"Get out of my sight… now."

"Yeah, that's right. Treat me like shit." Familiar tears showed up with impeccable timing, "That's the only thing you're capable of doing without fucking up."

Upon hearing the conversation on the other side, Razoul opened the door, afraid Jasmine might be beaten to death if someone didn't shut her up; apparently, he was there to rescue the wrong person. Princess Jasmine looked like a hissing viper and Jafar a wounded prairie dog. With a spin of her heels, jet black hair smacked Jafar in the face, the little woman storming off ahead of Razoul and towards the servants' quarters. Razoul bashfully followed after.


	6. Chapter 6: Whispers

"I need a rack of lamb, stuffed quail and goat stew and dumplins—make sure that paan doesn't burn and go easy on the spices in the lentil soup—we've got foreigners visitin' ya know— and what the bloody hell are ye doin' girl? Don't give me yer excuses lass, just pick it up and hurry on … and stop those bloody tears!"

Geraldine was an Irish woman. Though she had lived in Agrabah for a better part of twenty years, she never forgot who she was, nor where she came from, and though her Arabic was well spoken, others often had a difficult time understanding her thick accent. As the palace kitchen busied itself prepping for the evening's banquet, Geraldine hurried about, never slowing, never skipping a beat when she needed to bark an order, scold a fellow servant, or, in rare cases, applaud one of them for doing an excellent job.

"There isn't to be any mishaps tonight lads and lasses—Naila, finish choppin' them spuds, Zarah, keep those silver platters spotless around the brim; and cupla', you better make sure to keep up with those pots—I'm not 'bout to run out of cookware because you two keep yammerin' instead of washin'."

"It's Parveen and Parvina, Geraldine. We've told you a hundred times—"

"Bah—" Geraldine waved them away, forgetting instantly the names of the sisters. Twins. Why did the world need twins anyways, it only made things confusing for everyone else? Wasn't one of someone good enough? No. God had to go and make two of the exact same person.

The chef took a sip of goat cheese, potato and carrot soup—she loved experimenting and adding touches of home to her food, then sent it away making a kissing motion with her fingers in gratitude. But the rare smile was replaced again with a sour look, freckled nose wrinkling as she watched the couple walking towards her.

"What'd we have here?"

Razoul stepped forward, a small girl with brown skin and jeweled hair following closely behind, her bruised neck calling attention from the Chef.

"Geraldine, this is Princess Jas—"

"Aye, ye silly wanker, I know who she be. I've eyes, haven't I? The question is why is a member of the royal family down in my kitchen? She doesn't belong here."

Razoul looked embarrassed, "Her majesty has come to help, Geraldine. It couldn't possibly hurt to have an extra pair of hands, could it?"

"Oh, is that right, now? Pair of hands to do what, Razoul? She'll only be in my way, and the way of my staff." She cut Razoul off before he could protest, "I don't care why she's here in the first place. She doesn't belong and that's that."

Pleased, Jasmine shrugged and turned to leave. Razoul quickly grabbed her by the arm and spun her around, giving a large gapped tooth smile at the red-haired woman.

"Geraldine, I'm afraid I must insist … please… allow me to explain? It'll only take a moment."

Jasmine threw her head back like a frustrated child being forced into a tedious chore, Razoul ushering her to stand over by a pile of potato peelings, while he and the chef lowered their voices in private conversation.

Geraldine's arms crossed over her large bust, "Alright, you've thirty seconds to explain what's goin' on. I've a banquet to prepare."

"It might take longer than that…"

"Fifteen, now."

"Geraldine," her name came out in a laugh, "hold back your bark, girl…"

"Oh, yeah Razoul? You give me orders now?"

"As head of the Royal Guard, yes."

"And as Razoul, my friend? Is _he_ going to boss me around?"

"I'm on duty, Geraldine…"

"You're on duty at all times, Razoul. Your loyalty to your position always in control of your actions."

"And _as_ your friend," ignoring her comment, which was meant as an insult, he pressed on, "I am asking for your cooperation."

"Cooperation for who?"

"The Princess—"

"She doesn't belong in my kitchen, Razoul! Why is she even down here in the servants' quarters anyway? This is very," Geraldine emphasized with her hands, "unnatural…"

Razoul looked troubled and it made Geraldine squirm. He always wore a gruff take charge kind of persona, dedicated loyalty to the palace his most charming attribute; though she dared not tell him. But now he gave the impression of defeat, consumed by thoughts that were plainly miserable.

"What is going on up there Razoul? In that world of theirs. You watch them too much, ya know? Always looking into the lives of the royals, never actually part of it, yet you get so involved and so wrapped up in obligation. Tell me what's troubling you my friend."

He spoke, acting again as a dutifully bound royal guard, "I have orders from Sultan Jafar-"

"—**_Acting_** Sultan." Geraldine looked over to where the interruption came from, the Princess having spoken up, and Razoul grimaced.

Giving a nod to Jasmine's correction he spoke quieter, "Geraldine, please. I could lose my head for not enforcing his command, and – don't roll your eyes, woman. You could lose your head too."

"Bah," she gave her tall tell sign of frustration with a wave of a hand. As if the motion could, literally, erase the last spoken words from the air. She hated being corrected, or worse, told what to do; which admittedly, made her lifetime of servitude slightly more difficult. But Sultan Hamed had always been a gentle and passive man, allowing her full reign of self and the luxury of running her kitchen as she deemed fit.

"Ya Amar … listen to reason. Yes?"

Hands on her hips she looked away, ignoring the pet name, watching the women at work. She should be working right now too, not bothering with such nonsense.

"Put her to use, She's an intelligent woman."

"She's a _child_. A spoiled palace brat –And this is **my** kitchen!"

Razoul motioned for her to hush, but Jasmine was already full alert to every word being said.

"It is _not_ your kitchen Geraldine, it is theirs; which now means, it's _his_. It all belongs to him in the end; from our positions in the palace, right down to our very lives, and this arrogance you've fallen into will get you killed." He couldn't stress enough how badly things became when Jafar was pissed off.

Dishes clambered, servants bustling in rapid, smooth motions, working around one another in unison. Geraldine watched for a moment, eyes falling on the little girl standing there, with head held high and shoulders back. Jasmine was a stunning little thing, Geraldine had always thought so, but rarely seen her in recent years; the Irish woman preferred interacting as least as possible with royalty. Though Jasmine had attributes of a strong future queen, all Geraldine saw when looking at her, was a timid child who was broken up inside. Even as she stared off uninterested, watching the servants work, it appeared the Princess might burst into tears at any moment. Geraldine sucked in her cheeks, biting them as she thought.

"Do what he says, please. If not for respect of our new Sultan, then do it for me," Razoul laid a paw on Geraldine's strong shoulder.

"humph… and what exactly _does_ he say? Why did he send her here?"

Razoul looked around stepping further out of Jasmines ear shot. "Jafar is punishing her … that's all I gathered from it. And he ordered that she begin working as a 'slave' in her own home."

"So, she could be humiliated?" Geraldine was terrible at whispering.

"He just said, she's expected to serve every afternoon and probably most evenings. No special treatments. He wants her to know how it feels to work for something I guess. Or maybe… he just wants her out of sight."

She still felt unsure, "This is not some trick, then? The new Sultan sending a spy in to make sure I'm running things correctly?"

"No Geraldine, nothing like that. It's not about us workers. It's her…. He's…" Razoul looked pained, "He's an evil man... and this might be what's best for now. Help keep her out of his way, and alive a little longer."

Geraldine's green eyes widened at the last phrase while blowing air forcefully through puffed cheeks. "There have been whispers… we've all heard stories about the snake beast who took over Agrabah and obliterated the royal family… but servants talk. You know how twisted stories can become—"

"—Trust me Geraldine, they're not far from the truth. He's not to be trifled with. Please, help me fulfill my duty in protecting what remains of the royal bloodline."

Geraldine smiled up at her friend, "It is more than duty, isn't it? You care for the lass?"

"As I care for you!" Razoul brightened taking her calloused hand in his rough ones, planting a brief kiss atop her knuckles, then turned to go; speaking to Jasmine briefly, but Geraldine didn't make out what was said. Then just like that, the chef had a new problem to deal with, and no doubt, a long night ahead.

* * *

After Jasmine got dressed into the brown colored uniform, which Jafar thoughtfully provided earlier, Geraldine set her to work with a girl named Zarah. It was too late into the evening for the Princess to do any prep work, and there was no way she could be trusted to actually cook food—not that a princess would even know how to cook—so instead, Zarah showed Jasmine how to shine the silver platters and how to arrange fruits and meats on each in elegant designs. Jasmine had been enthralled when Zarah formed apple slices into the shape of a rose, and eagerly set to follow the similar task.

When both male and female servants began carrying out the courses, Jasmine brightened, wanting an excuse to see Jafar, in hopes of causing another scene. But mainly she wanted to know who was invited to this dinner party, and why she hadn't been part of it. Curiosity was also beckoning, calling her mind to wonder if Jafar still wore that black cotton shirt, his strong bare chest like the golden bronze of a god—Jasmine flinched at the thought of him, how close he had been only a couple hours earlier and the way she was denied the taste of his mouth.

"Whoa there, lass. Where'd ya think you're heading off to with that?"

Jasmine hesitated. Geraldine was a gruff woman, probably in her thirties, and spoke with assertive strength, making it difficult to read the difference between Geraldine happy and Geraldine pissed.

"I, um…" Jasmines elbow gestured towards the passageway, which lead from the kitchen to the Dining Hall.

"Oh, no you don't girl, you're stayin' right here. I'm not havin' a half-wit carry this amount of food. You'd only drop it and mess things up." Jasmine's mouth hung open at the audacity in which Geraldine spoke to her, the chef taking back the fruit platter, "Now go finish decoratin' the dessert trays with flowers, Zarah can't do it alone ya know."

Turning back to face the tall counter, Jasmine picked up a red desert flower from a woven basket, twirling the green stem. Zarah continued to delicately place petals in patterns of red, yellow, and white, earning Jasmine's envy once more; the Princess wished she, too, could make something look brilliant. Jasmine knew she'd never be able to do what theses servants did. She'd failed when attempting the rose made out of apple slices, and after five minutes of being here, she'd ran into another girl, causing potatoes to plummet across the floor. More than likely decorating the dessert with flowers would go wrong as well. It was clear no one wanted her here anyways. Especially Geraldine.

All the servant girls avoided eye contact, and would speak amongst themselves, falling silent once Jasmine came near them. True her only friend, ever, had been a jungle cat; and Rajah opted out of their relationship when he fell ill about a month ago, leaving Jasmine utterly friendless. It was possible she already did something that others knew not to do whenever making friends. Or maybe the desperation for companionship made others uneasy.

"Zarah?" The burnet, curvy woman looked sweetly up at Jasmine. Jasmine liked this girl, who, was extremely kind and the only person in weeks to treat Jasmine like a human being. Hopefully she wouldn't scare her off too.

"Your Grace?" Zarah giggled, "Oh, your Majesty. Don't look so upset. They're just flowers. It doesn't matter where you put them, long as _you_ find it beautiful." Hazel irises turned sad trying to understand why her Princess was downhearted.

"Princess, how can I help you?"

"I don't feel like a princess right now."

"But you are your Grace. You will forever be the rightful heir of Agrabah and no one can take that from you. No matter what clothes you wear, or if your hands are calloused or soft. You are our Princess, and future queen, we all have faith. You should too."

Jasmine smiled from her eyes, taking Zarah's hand in hers in thank you, and gave it a loving squeeze. Both girls returned to work, turning cakes and cream puffs from simple deserts into extravagant decorations.

Zarah usually didn't pry, so felt awkward upon asking such an intrusive question from her Majesty. "Why _did_ you want to serve food in the dining hall?"

"It's—complicated. I've never been to a dinner party before. I guess I just wanted to see—what it would be like, being surrounded by exotic guests…" Jasmine shrugged. It was a silly reason perhaps; and only the half of it.

Zarah scanned the busy kitchen, before intertwining her fingers with Jasmine's, and lead her Majesty towards the servant's entrance, then handed over a container of dark rich liquid: probably wine.

"Here, take this just in case you need an excuse as to why you're down the hallway. I'll cover for you for a few minutes if Geraldine asks your whereabouts."

A heavy weight took Jasmine by surprise, the servant girl making the wine look easy to carry. She started for the long narrow passageway before turning, "I don't have many friends, Zarah. But I would be pleased if I could call you mine."

"I would like that very much your highness. It would be an honor to be considered as such." Zarah bowed, rosy cheeks blushing with a sincere smile as she turned back to her post.

It felt less like a hallway and more like a dungeon, the tunnel was lined with stones and candlelight, its eeriness causing Jasmine to shrink inside herself. The passage was mostly straight, though it ran at an upward angle, leading up an entire floor where it would let out in the Dining Hall. Nearing the end, Jasmine spotted the beautiful archway, a red velvet curtain pulled back halfway allowing servants free access. Deep laughter and silverware sounded, Jafar and his guests enjoying themselves a little too much, Jasmine thought. Of course, get rid of the "little mouse" and then indulge in drunken revelry. Very mature.

Tips of her toes pranced silently along the stoned floor as she hid in the doorway behind the thick drapes, peeking out cautiously as to not be noticed. There sat five men, the same ones she'd seen the other day, all along the elongated table. Jasmine frowned to discover there was also a woman, and in _her_ seat at Jafar's right hand side.

"Bitch." Jasmine cursed out loud accidentally, then clasped a hand to her mouth pulling away from the entrance. But when their conversation continued without interruption, she felt safe enough to stare again.

A few male and female servants stood silently along the farthest walls awaiting orders, or to refill wine glasses, their heads down and hands folded. The table was beautifully arranged with candles, crystal glasses, and a black and red table runner; everything was spectacular, and a pang of jealousy probed her heart. Each of the guests spoke in Arabic, occasionally in their native languages now and then, in which case Jasmine couldn't understand, and she was surprised to learn Jafar spoke all four different languages with ease. These guests dressed oddly, and spoke with weird accents. None of them was like the other, and Jasmine was in awe listening to them, watching the way they mingled. Father never hosted for company of other countries. Come to think of it, they never had company period. It had always just been her and baba, and sometimes Jafar. Sultan Hamed had over exceeded his own expectations of keeping Jasmine hidden from the world; now she felt left out and slightly resented her lifelong quarantine.

Jasmine watched long enough to pick up on a few names. Mounted underneath a fur coat and a cloud of green smoke, sat a woman named Cruella. The yellow-haired man was called Tobias but also had been referred to as Imperial Count of Austria. The other two men had brown hair, one named Elijah and he sucked tirelessly from a strange pipe; and the other had been called Pierre, who sat closely with a pompous looking man that seemed to translate Arabic for him when the others spoke, but Pierre still seemed to do just fine communicating with the group. Finally, there was a quiet, dark skinned man, possibly a General, who wore a military uniform representing Agrabah, but Jasmine had yet to learn of his name.

Everyone drank gaily from their wine glasses, shoving delicate appetizers into their mouths and laughing a little too loudly, while speaking freely about life, business, marriage, and all the places they'd seen. If Jasmine was the odd woman out before, she hadn't fully realized it, until now. She couldn't speak more than one language, and had never left the outside of the palace walls—well, one time, but the farthest she'd gotten was two minutes down the road—so even if she had been invited to the party, there would be no place for her in their conversations. Maybe that was the real reason Jafar shunned her from tonight's events, tossing her in a kitchen like some embarrassment. The saddest part, she found, was that no one seemed to want her anywhere. Geraldine hated having her down there almost as much as Jafar despised her presence up here. Still, these people were here to negotiate with the Royals of Agrabah, right? Well, she was more royalty than Jafar. Shouldn't they be asking for her presence?

With a deep breath to settle her nerves, Jasmine pointed her chin getting ready to enter with the red wine, but when Elijah spoke, something egged Jasmine to remain hidden behind the velvet curtain.

Wine was licked away from moustache decorated lips, "For the life of me, I haven't been able to forget what happened yesterday, in our meeting." The laughter around the table fell to a hush, eyes turning to the British man. "That young woman, caused, quit the episode… wouldn't you agree, Jafar?"

Agrabah's newest Sultan fingered the curved crystal glass, suddenly interested in its shimmering liquid.

"Oh, that's right, Elijah," spoke the Austrian man, "Now what was her name? Jaqueline?"

"Yasmeen, darling," Cruella cheered to thin air.

"You weren't even there, Cruella." Pierre spoke in his native tongue, the translator repeating his response with fluidity.

"Yet somehow, I still know more than you, little man." She snapped. Her voice was husky with dramatic annunciation, "What are you even doing in this country if you can't speak their language, anyway? Imbecile."

Pierre muttered something and Cruella gave a hallowed laugh, ignoring an uncouth comment.

"—Jasmine," Jafar spoke with monotony, but hearing herself on his lips made Jasmine weak in the knees.

Everyone nodded knowingly.

"A real firecracker that one is: like a wild stallion." Tobias tousled at long blonde hair, then popped hummus and paan into his mouth.

There came a few laughs in agreeance; Jasmine failing to see what was funny.

"Well, clearly, our newest friend has one hell of a tolerance. I would have sent her to the stockades after a stunt like that," said Pierre through his translator.

"And she's a woman no less," Tobias piped in once more, "I've had my share of brawls with my fellow man. But for a _woman_ to act out that way?"

"It is feasible that his Majesty just has a powerful back hand." It was the first time she'd heard the soldier speak up; the rudimentary comment receiving another fit of laughter and clanking of wine glasses.

"Well, if I were in our Lordships shoes, I think I'd lose my damn mind dealing with that level of heathenry. Where I come from, a Lady must be controlled in all aspects." Elijah sucked deeply from his cob pipe, blue eyes shadowed by the scrunching of his unkempt brows.

"Well I assume it isn't all bad, right Jafar? If I were a man I'd be taking that sexy little minx against the head board every night."

An uproar overtook the environment; Pierre spitting out his wine at Cruella's comment, while Tobias and the translator held their sides, gasping, and Elijah sat, mouth agape, though clearly amused. Cruella gave a wink at Jafar over the brim of her glass, but Jasmine couldn't read him.

"How do you even know she's attractive, Cruella?" Came Jafar's only response.

"A woman who tells off the most powerful man in the country, in front of his peers? Of course, she's a fox. I'm getting hot just thinking about it."

Jafar broke into a wide grin, though it looked painful, probably from never having truly smiled before in his life.

Jasmine felt sick to her stomach. Everyone was making fun, gossiping right in front of her, for the second time tonight. Being royalty didn't mean she lacked feelings or wasn't like every other person. Although she would hardly consider these bastards' _human_; they acted more like animals. Being a Princess, naturally, had meant she'd be slightly spoiled growing up, which then lead to her lack of willpower when it came to being silent and disciplined. But that wasn't her fault. Skills most girls knew at her age included cooking, cleaning, and enduring hard labor; she had none of that. Even women who were wealthy had been educated and well read, more often than not; and Jasmine had never been forced to study or learn. Father hated making her do things she didn't want to do. Jasmine adjusted her grip on the wine, its contents heavy like her heart. But with all her flaws, and what some considered undesirable traits, Jasmine knew she was capable of being a great Queen. Agrabah loved her for who she was. Didn't they?

Elijah turned solemn coming down from his high, "Joking aside, your majesty… and I say this with the upmost respect. But we all feel that this, Princess of Agrabah—is inadequate to be queen. Such lack of respect is more than off-putting."

"Precisely, darling. Jafar, every relationship has its issues, believe me. My last three husbands would tell you as much; if the dead could talk," Cruella spoke smoothly as if proud to be a widow three times over, "But, discretion is the name of the game, darling. And ruling a country already comes with its own set of…" her glass lifted, searching for the correct phrase.

"Obstructions," Pierre spoke.

"yes—what that man-child just said, and you don't need further grief."

Pierre's wine glass hit the table hard, its contents sloshing out at Cruella in anger.

Elijah diffused the situation moving on, "And this, Jasmine, so far, has only instilled a potential lack of faith from your peers."

As if this conversation wasn't upsetting enough, Jasmine caught a glimpse of Cruella's gloved hand rubbing the back of Jafar's, her thin red lips carrying on nonchalantly. "By no means are we doubting women's ability for greatness; look at me, for example." The short Frenchman rolled his eyes, his adversary carrying on. "This is, after all, the end of the 17th century, and women are capable of much more than fucking and spawning little hell raisers. Although the fucking part is still my favorite."

_umm- was it entirely necessary to say "fucking" and look at Jafar at the same time!?_

"Exactly. And her strong-willed defiance is well known in all our countries. The entire middle east had run out of suitors, for Christ' sake; her refusal to take a husband demonstrated an unwillingness to fulfil duty." It was unclear who spoke last, but each one at the table nodded vigorously.

"What we're trying to say, your Highness, is that Hamed was a kind ruler, but substantially ineffective for a man in his position. It was well known how slack he'd been when it came to responsibility and clearly in raising his own daughter. How can we ensure you will not go back on your promises? That Agrabah will change for the better if you, too, allow this girl to walk all over?" Elijah was now her new enemy, Jasmine decided, fists clenched in vexation. "Why should we trust you'll be different than Hamed. We don't want to agree to these contracts under the assumption your rule might mimic past mistakes."

Up until this point Jafar remained painfully quiet. Other than drinking occasionally, he hardly smiled, or spoke; constantly watching his guests with calculated stares. Familiar attire draped over his entire form, his shoulders accented, as always, and his serpent staff leaning against the seat. Jasmine had been grievous when first discovering he'd changed back into costume; but now as she spied from the archway she thought better of the idea of him half dressed. Cruella now allowed a black gloved hand to sensually rub at Jafar's wrist and Jasmine swore she saw movement happening under the table as well. Yup. It was absolutely better for him to be fully clothed, with that vicious woman threatening to devour him like sex candy. Her attention turned back when Jafar finally spoke.

"I am not one to speak ill of the elderly, nor of the fatally sick."

_Oh, for fucks sake_. Jasmine rolled her eyes as Jafar orchestrated an all too familiar sonata.

"Sultan Hamed had been, and always will be, a man of great virtue, deserving nothing less than continual respect and honor, as I had every pleasure in servitude of Grand Vizier."

Everyone bowed their heads as if remembering someone who'd passed, eating the bullshit out of Jafar's greedy hands.

_He's still alive assholes! And don't act like you liked him! You just said he was a terrible ruler!_ She envisioned barging in, grabbing Jafar's staff, and beating every one of them with it.

"With that said, allow me to set straight your personal vendettas against my nearing reign. Hamed's expiration was long overdue, his authority like curdled milk, souring Agrabah and permitting a stench so foul it reached the corners of the world. For years, I was forced to watch as nations recoiled from our touch, twisting disgusted by the mere name of my country. He was an old fool to the end, and I assure you he has met a just demise."

Cruella allowed her stare to fall into Jafar's lap, guessing he had a rather large cock to be speaking so boldly.

"I will not beg for approval as I've no need for your opinions. Agrabah is already mine, and I have done more in two weeks' time than that twat fulfilled in forty years."

Tobias swallowed dryly, "Sometimes humbleness is necessary, Jafar."

"And so is **death**. But I'm sure we will settle an allegiance without the pain of either one."

Tobias's blue eyes fought back to momentarily challenge the Sultan. But, as with all those who dared enter the black pit of Jafar's gaze, Tobias looked away submissively, and nodded in compliance.

Cruella crossed her legs, looking ruffled, and Jasmine wondered if the pale woman was getting excited by Jafar's ruthlessness. Something she herself had experienced.

"As for the shrew," Jasmine hated the darkness crossing Jafar's face, "that 'stubborn _stallion', _will soon be broken indeed. Split into two if necessary."

Nervous laughing finally broke the tension, the men making their own cruel sexual comments as they drank from refilled glasses.

"Mm- maybe you'll give me a ride after her?" Cruella winked, all the men including Jafar roared, enjoying themselves once more, their crystal glasses clinking together, as they decided the new Sultan's response sufficed, and that they could carry on the rest of the night without further discussion of business.

But Jasmine was far from being done with the debate. In fact, she had plenty of choice words to share and planned on telling these foreign bastards where they could shove their sadistic jokes. Stepping forward from the curtain, Jasmine knew exactly who to douse with the red stained liquid, and who would be beat in the face, first, with a golden staff. Cruella most likely. Her feet didn't get very far though and the container dropped with a thud, meaty paws picking her up from behind as one clutched at the waist and the other around her mouth.

Nothing stopped beefy arms from carrying Jasmine—even as she kicked and scratched—down the passageway and back to the kitchen; cold hallway stones drowning out muffled screams along the way. When her tiny feet planted back on solid ground, they spun around enabling Razoul to be struck clean across the face. All at once, every servant within ear shot halted, shocked by what sounded like a cracked whip.

"What the hell do you think you're doing? Never touch me again, Ever!"

"I should ask you the same thing, Jasmine." Razoul straightened his vest.

"That's **Princess** to you, _peasant_. And I owe you no explanation."

Razoul dismissed her anger, knowing she had every right to lash out at him. But Jasmine needed to hear the truth, no matter how much it would upset her. "Wake up Princess. It's over. Everything you were, everything that was: it's done – _But_ nothing. What did you plan to do, Hmm? Cause another scene, throw something at him to make him look like a fool again?"

It was deathly silent.

"He. Will. Kill you. Get that through your thick head. Jafar doesn't need you Jasmine. He can and he will rule Agrabah with or without you by his side. And I suggest you stop making the latter look like the best option."

Thin arms wrapped her stomach in a cocoon. "I can't just sit back and let him trash my name like that. This is not easy for me—I know it has been for you, but I can't handle it the way you can."

"How do you figure that any of this is easy for me? I loved your father. I served him and your mother faithfully and happily, the same way I have served you Princess. None of this is easy to digest. But I do what must be done…"

"In spite of the costs?"

"**Because** of the cost. Do you not realize you are far more valuable than rubies? I do what must be done to keep from paying the ultimate price; losing the rightful heir of Agrabah."

There was so much she had left to say. So many reasons to cry out loud, to scream into the air while pulling out her hair. But nothing came out. The room started to spin as she paled, feeling as though a rock had landed in her stomach. The growing fear she'd had all evening now was plainly spoken by another. She wasn't actually needed; let alone _wanted_. When trapped in that hourglass, Jasmine assumed Jafar required her in order to rule Agrabah. That he had craved her respect and approval. It was what made her feel confident to believe Jafar never actually meant to dispose of her. Now that bubble of security had popped.

"What the bloody hell is goin' on here? Where've you been? Razoul, where'd ya find 'er?"

No one answered Geraldine.

"Princess or no. When yer in my kitchen, you're on _my_ time, and pullin' a dissapearin' act, has _cost_ me my time."

"Geraldine—"

Chef Geraldine kept emerald eyes locked on Jasmine, ignoring Razoul's protest. "You're a weak little mite aren't ya? No one will ever serve a queen who faints at her own shadow, you know."

_Damnit the hell, shut up!_ "That's enough, woman!" Shouted Razoul, but it was too late to salvage Jasmine's feelings as she pushed past the two, running quickly up the stairs in a flood of tears.

* * *

The tree seemed larger somehow which made the journey up its base more challenging than the last time she'd climbed it. Other than that, it was an easy task, her servant garments snagging briefly on a branch as she jumped to her feet, landing outside the prison. There had been very few guards, and she knew Jafar was occupied. Jasmine looked back at her former home, only once; the white stoned walls had held her captive for the last time. Jafar could have Agrabah. And she would find a way to get her father out of there once she'd established a livelihood of her own in the streets of Agrabah. Which, shouldn't be too difficult, Aladdin had lived here his entire life, and he turned out perfectly fine. Speaking of which—

It was long after dark but the marketplace seemed to only amplify, welcoming the night life. There were two pubs along the way, an ally with women of every sort standing outside; Frightening moans and screams of pleasure came from the upper floor windows, and echoed down to Jasmine.

Someone whistled, Jasmine looking away from the top of the building and down to a woman in the doorway. "You're a beautiful little thing, honey. What're you called."

"Um…" she didn't think it wise to use her real name, someone might alert the royal guards. "Yasmeen." _Thanks, Cruella for the alias._

" – you look like you could use some money. Yasmeen."

Jasmine forgot she looked nothing like a princess. Her jewels had been removed along with her violet gown and golden slippers when working in the kitchen. And admittedly she probably could use money; the last visit nearly cost her a hand, when she fed a small boy without payment. Summer ended last week, and the bitter breeze ate away at her thin clothes. It couldn't hurt to just walk in. Maybe finding a place to sleep and then looking for Aladdin tomorrow would be wisest.

Spaced lanterns clung to every wall, nude pictures of women fornicating with beasts hanging in between each one. Scandalous acts were illuminated inside the brothel, the burning lights leaving no space for privacy. She held her stomach in nervous habit, following the woman deeper inside. There were cushions and pillows, men and women sprawled out across them, as they kissed, licked, and touched. A woman with two long braids threw back clear liquid straight from the bottle; then allowed it to pour from herself down into the mouth of some large man, licking the droplets away from his chin afterwards. Jasmine spotted a winding staircase in the middle of the room too. As they passed under it, Jasmine looked up seeing closed rooms, loud elicit noises coming from each of them. This might have been a mistake. What kind of work would be expected of her to allow her to stay one night?

"You never told me your name," Jasmine fought for a distraction amongst the chaotic environment.

"Peach."

"Interesting name," Jasmine almost ran into Peach when they stopped suddenly at a bar top.

"It's what they call me. Probably because I have the softest pussy ever, like a nice warm peach," shimmering cloth was scrunched upwards, Jasmine receiving a heaping dose of Peach's pubic hair, and she screamed covering her mouth. Her own body was still a mystery, so the sight of another woman's genitals was terrifying.

"I've never heard a woman squeak like that before, unless she was fucking. Perhaps we'll call you little mouse?"

Jasmine's face dropped at the name.

"Ummah, come out here!" Peach hollered towards some back room.

"Your mother lives here too?"

Peach stared down at Jasmine through heavy dark makeup, and super long lashes. Her cheeks were shimmery, like diamond dust, and Jasmine thought she was beautiful. "Ummah is everyone's mother, She's the Madam of the brothel. Ummah's in charge of taking care of us working girls, and hiring new ones."

A wooden cup was shoved into Jasmine's hands, and she took a tiny sip, the hard liquor burning her chest and tingling down her spine. Odd how a meager substance could force her entire body into a wincing frenzy. Jasmine coughed, "and she'll help me find somewhere to sleep tonight?"

Peach gave a head tilt in affirmation then threw back her own cup as smoothly as if she were drinking fresh spring water. Jasmine attempted to take another sip, but only a few drops made it over her tongue when she gagged.

Sudden shouting echoed through the house, Jasmine and Peach looking over to where the woman with braids still sat in a brawny man's lap. Her breasts were pulled free, another man having ripped the gold colored fabric from her chest as he tried to force her into his arms. She grabbed ahold of her tit, placing it inside the mouth of the man she sat with, and he sucked it greedily; the woman staring challengingly at the smaller man, pleased by his shaking anger.

Before anyone could blink, the woman had been dropped onto the cushions, the two men throwing fists, as they scuffled across the clay floor. When they bumped into a threesome, more men joined in, breaking bottles and pulling knives from their waistbands. Jasmine backed up slowly. Could this night get any worse?

Yes, came the answer, when yet another pair of hands covered her mouth and stomach, forcing her backwards; her feet shuffling, struggling to keep up as she was pulled out into the dirt street, the brothel disappearing as they turned down an alleyway.

* * *

**Yes, I realize that Cruella wasn't even created until the 1950's time period. I also researched the original Thousand and One nights and what time frame Aladdin should have taken place in reality. But all I found is that Disney is neither geographically correct or correct with timelines. Aladdin could be from ancient times, or it could be based between 1600-1800's, as they took pieces of both time periods when creating the movie. So, I chose to create them at the end of the 17th century, and threw Cruella in there because I love her character. If I have any other misleading information in here feel free to let me know, if you know something I do not.**

**Thank you for all the wonderful reviews and reading my story! Lots of love and work goes into these and it's delightful to know others appreciate them as much as I do.**


	7. Chapter 7: Grass Is Greener

No matter the time of year, Agrabah was painfully hot. From sunup to sundown it was so scorched, that food could be, and sometimes literally was, fully cooked when left out under the heat of the sun. So, for the ninety percent of impoverished folks in the country, finding a cool place to hide away was near impossible. Even if their shoes melted into the dirt streets as they worked in the marketplace, they still had to grin and bear it; barely making ends meet as they auctioned off goods in the marketplace covering their skin in cloaks to keep from blisters and sunburns. Agrabah was poor. It was scolding hot. And altogether a fallen city. Even when nightfall blanketed them in sweet release, it was a short-lived relief; the desert nights in subzero temperatures, frost coating the sands and cutting into the bones of those left without proper shelter. Here you couldn't win. Unless you were wealthy, or living in the palace, food was lacking, shelter was rarely attainable, and money was all anyone wanted, but hardly any person had.

Aladdin had heard before that the city of Agrabah was once a great nation. Thriving in sciences, trades, and had won a great war long ago against its neighbors. The Ottoman empire had been on their side, and were fearless with massive armies and weaponry. But shortly after the Ottoman empire fell, Agrabah's trade industry lowered, their armies outnumbered and failing in technology compared to the West, and fell into isolation from other countries. Agrabah had started to pick itself up again after a while, but once their latest Queen had fallen victim to illness, Agrabah slowly diminished again, this time worse than before. Aladdin didn't know who was to blame for everything happening now. He would like to pin it all on Jafar, but it was unrealistic to blame the beast for situations long before even _he_ had been born. And Sultan Hamed's lack of leadership hadn't been Jafar's fault either.

Still. Aladdin hated the skinny bastard, and gladly accused the entirety of pain, over the past few hundred years, on Jafar. They'd all been punished for the sins of the Vizier, starting way before his great, great, grandfather had been spawned. The universe must've known primitively Jafar would be a wicked seed produced down the road, and cursed Agrabah for it in good faith. So, fuck Jafar, it was all his fault. The beggar kicked at a rock in the dirt road, watching it tumble a few inches ahead before falling flat. Then kicked it a final time, with angst, sending it hurling ahead becoming lost in the crowded market.

It was getting late as the sun sank quickly behind far off mountains. It would be fully dark soon, and Aladdin needed to get home before the bitter fall night took over. But it wasn't that easy going back to an empty hovel, alone. Aladdin wanted her. Craved her to be near him. And since Jafar had ruined that too, they had been forced to only speak via secret letters. But now the newest issue was Jasmine hadn't responded to him in two days; which, understandably, was causing gut gnawing worry and sleepless nights. She could be dead for all he knew, and there wasn't a damn thing to be done about it. But at least he needed to know the truth, to know whether or not she was okay. Or if she just lost interest in dating a dirty street rat.

Aladdin shook his head hating the way his thoughts were turning, and sped up the pace. Usually, the sun would have to absolutely disappear long before he dared to near the white stone barricade. Then early, every morning before sun up, a response to Jasmine was made and placed back into the secret compartment. But, this evening, he couldn't stand to wait until dark. He needed to know if she'd written and, with any luck, she had, and his fears would at last diminish. Thankfully there hadn't been any guards patrolling the perimeter, allowing the thief to skillfully sneak along the wall and retrieve the scrap of paper. He looked it over. Grave disappointment sprouting when he saw the signature, Al, at the bottom. She hadn't even bothered to take his message from three days ago; he couldn't read, but knew this was the same letter from before.

A friend of his, Habib, wrote the letters for Aladdin, and read Jasmine's responses to him as well. It was slightly embarrassing, but most of Agrabah wasn't educated and therefore didn't read or write. All Aladdin could manage was the letters "A", "L". His own way of adding a personal touch to each love letter. Maybe Jasmine realized she could do better, and fell helplessly in love with her captor. Jafar was well-read and educated, unlike himself, and had the whole world within his grasp. Aladdin had nothing but the clothes on his back. And even those didn't originally belong to him.

Damnit. Those thoughts were troublesome and persistent. Jasmine was like no other woman, and would never do something so shallow. She had said she loved him; called him _her_ Aladdin and didn't care that he wasn't a prince. He just needed to see her again. And those pesky anxieties would ease up. Folding up his own letter carefully, he shoved it into the fold of his waistband, then stepped backwards, looking up at the palace.

After Jafar banished the street rat, Aladdin found he could catch glimpses of Jasmine from the balcony where they'd shared their first kiss. Last week Aladdin had seen her heart shaped face as she looked out helplessly, staring over the ledge and across the city lights. She'd never known he was there, and he never called out, afraid to attract attention and be caught. But Allah, how he wished he'd done things differently. That he had been able to remind her their love would overcome, and that they were closer than it seemed.

Now looking to where her room was, he saw nothing but darkness. No lit candles, no voices overhead, and no Princess. Much like his hope, the room had been abandoned and Aladdin turned away, dejected. His stomach chewed at itself, hunger always a constant that could be depended on. Two red apples, a mango, and a loaf of bread were swiped elegantly off passing vendors, Aladdin taking advantage of the crowded mess as the marketplace closed up and businesses of the night assumed control of the streets.

When Aladdin met Jasmine, believing her to be a peasant girl, the royal police had burst in, finding his hideout. Since being back on the streets Al had to resort to finding a new place of squalor to reside in. Even though it was further from the palace than before, Aladdin liked this new hut. It was small resting on the ground, and didn't attract any unwanted attention. Aladdin could even watch the busy streets from his window with ease, and it proved useful in his line of work being able to people watch; not to mention entertaining. Of course, the fact that he was stuck out here and not in the palace—Jafar having kicked him out after beating him half to death—was an inconvenience. He'd much rather be sleeping in a warm soft bed, than a dirty floor, and enjoying his meals instead of stealing them for survival.

Al walked to the middle of the shack, unloading the day's earnings onto the floor in a pile. Whatever he had no need for, he'd pawn for coins tomorrow, or exchange for food. It was best to believe the trinkets taken didn't hold any true value to those he'd stolen from. Sometimes, however, there'd be a hand carved knife with an endearing message on the handle, or a girl's doll made from straw and horse hair, in the mix. Those types of items he _would_ return; making sure to track down the man or woman, acting as if he'd found the item on the street or seen them drop it. But today's loot held no such treasures; only necklaces, an earring, a few coins, a hand mirror, and some glass vials. Apothecary containers were priceless, they had helped in his recovery after the brutal beating, and since then Aladdin began stocking up on medicines and herbs, just in case.

Crunching into a crisp apple, Aladdin leaned, looking out across the street, watching as usual, knowing there would be dramatic action unfolding soon. There was dinner and a show every night without fail. Aladdin had ventured to a pub once or twice, barely having enough money to even become tipsy. He'd also tried to have a night at the brothel, but they all hated him there. No money meant no business, and that oversized woman in pink hated men who couldn't provide business; she's even tried swatting Aladdin in the head with a broom before. Just as well. None of those whores were anything as beautiful as Jasmine. And he'd rather wait until the night he would take Jasmine as his own.

Nothing much was happening yet across the street, and Aladdin began to turn from the window to sort through his possessions. Then something caught his eye. Or rather, someone.

_No… it couldn't be…_

He rubbed at the specks in his eyes, adjusting his vision to take a second look. When it was undeniable who the girl was, Aladdin's heart dropped; the young woman disappearing inside the brothel. Jumping over the windows ledge, Aladdin raced barefooted, digging his heels into the dirt as trepidation spoiled his stomach.

* * *

This time Jasmine hadn't screamed when her mouth was masked, it would undoubtedly be a waste of energy and no one would come to save her. Instead, when able, her jaw shimmied loosening under the clammy hand, and she bit down, hard, earning an escape when the assailant dropped his hold. Demons of hell were rattling the cage within; she'd just about had enough of men bossing her around and putting their hands on her. Weeks of animosity were ready to unload on this one stranger like hellfire; and just before the monster was unleashed, Jasmine's flames died out at the sight of a boy in a purple vest and torn pants.

Aladdin watched Jasmine, her face contorting into something he couldn't read. For a moment, he thought he'd grabbed the wrong girl. Jasmine didn't really look the way he last recalled. Her eyes were wider and heavier against her thin face. She had bruising on her neck, and a stiff hateful demeanor, nothing like the soft warm loving attitude he was used to seeing. It was difficult to diagnose, but something about this woman felt off. But before long Aladdin determined it was indeed Jasmine, and he forced a smile. No matter how she appeared in this moment, Jasmine was still Jasmine; no amount of crazy Vizier could alter her loving innocence.

"You're not going to puke on me, are you? This is my only outfit you know?" He gave a million-dollar smile ignoring the pain in his chest regarding her condition.

Jasmine didn't respond, not even to blink.

"Jaz… It's me… It's—"

"—ALADDIN!"

For a petite woman, Jasmine was able to easily knock the wind out of Aladdin. Her thin frame slamming into his chest, as she fumbled for an awkward hug. The beggar boy balanced himself, ensuring they didn't both topple over in the dirty alley, then embraced his long-lost love as his eyes closed. Tears sprang free dripping on Aladdin as Jasmine whispered against his cheek.

"I thought I'd never see you again," her words choked.

He made a shh-ing sound to sooth both their fears while nuzzling the length of her jet-black hair. It felt like they stood there for hours, neither one wanting to let go, afraid that if they did they'd awake, and discover their reunion had been nothing more than a dream. But the screams and shouting heard from the nearby fight of the brothel forced them to separate, Royal guards being called over by some frantic elderly woman. Aladdin took Jasmine under his arm protectively, warning her to shield her face, as they darted back down the street to take shelter inside his home.

Two young lovers kept quietly hidden inside the stick and clay dome. A princess and a vagabond joining forces as they hid, never speaking above a whisper and sitting on the floor avoiding guards from across the street. They couldn't ever be caught by Agrabah's patrol. If they were, Jasmine would be sentenced to eternal damnation inside the palace, and Aladdin would be beheaded for kidnapping a Princess. At least that's what Jafar would convict him of. So, the two sat anxiously in dark silence, waiting for the moment when they'd finally be able to catch up and hold each other all night.

After a long while, the brawl across the way died out, and there was no longer any need to take cover; at least for tonight. Aladdin set to work to create a small fire in the middle of the room using some small dried sticks. It was a meager blaze, but enough to warm the hovel and illuminate the room. Jasmine caught an apple tossed by the boy, and they shared a brief smile.

Aladdin was the first to crack the silence.

"So… what were you doing in the _brothel_?"

Jasmine crossed her legs on the floor, getting closer to the warm fire. "Why do you say it like that? Like I did something—dirty?" She scoffed.

"It's nothing…" he poked at the fire helping it breath, "Just wondering why you, an innocent, sweet little princess, were found in a low-down place like a grimy brothel?"

"Well, why were you?" she bit dryly, taking offense to how weak he made her out to be; his next answer more vexatious.

"I was there to save you—"

"I didn't ask for saving Al. I had a handle on it… it's not like I'm helpless."

He pulled a face.

"Besides, if you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly a _princess_ anymore."

He snorted in a laugh, "So, a change of clothing turns you into a commoner?"

"Why not? A wardrobe change turned you into a _Prince_…"

He surrendered hands up. Fair enough, "Then can I ask how you left the palace. Or rather **why**… isn't your father still in there?"

Jasmine ate the apple ravenously unconcerned how improperly she behaved. She'd not eaten since early that afternoon, and it had only been a handful of grapes; her stomach being extremely sour since Jafar's strangulation. Food was the only thing of importance tonight, along with finding Aladdin of course. But now that they had been reunited, food currently was most important.

"I got out the same way as the first time. I don't want to talk about the why's and yeah… he's still there…" She whipped juices from her mouth with the back of a hand.

_Great. Only an hour out on the streets and you've turned into a cave woman. Squatting on the floor, dressed in rags, eyes wild with hunger, and apple skin stuck between your teeth. You're a real warrior Jasmine._

Al didn't seem to notice her internal argument as he spoke, "Will you go back?"

"No." her head snapped away angry at the thought of returning, then forced herself to soften. She didn't mean to act so rude towards Aladdin. He was helping her and she still loved him; it wasn't his fault she'd been through hell and back. "I mean… I don't want to. And I hope I never have to."

Joining her on the floor, Aladdin sat opposite looking thoughtful as he chewed his lip. "Well. You're always welcome here with me. It's not much. The nights are bitterly cold and the neighbors aren't very friendly, but it's a place to call home."

Jasmine smiled kindly as she paid attention to the enclosed space of shallow borders. The floor was mostly dirt, with a few random stones plotted, proving there had once been an entire flooring system in place. Including the room in which they sat now, there was a shabby curtain covering an alcove hiding a makeshift bed with minimal privacy. She had imagined that when her and Aladdin would live together it would be in the palace, and they would have already been married. This situation was less than ideal, but what did it matter if she was safe with him?

As they locked eyes across the flames, Jasmine wished she could tell him how much she loved him. That it didn't matter where they lived, or how they survived. That _he_ was her home and all she needed. He was just as beautiful as she'd remembered, his quick wit and charm thick like his undying ability for love. But it wasn't the same anymore. _She_ wasn't the same. They'd been apart longer than they had been together, and during that time Jasmine had endured so much heartache and punitive doses of reality. It wasn't realistic to believe true love alone was sustainable; on its own it wasn't enough. At least right now that's how it felt. Tomorrow she may feel differently and bathe in the glow of blissful affections. As for tonight, all she wanted to do was eat and sleep indefinitely.

"This works perfectly, Aladdin." Was all she could manage.

They finished dinner, splitting the mango and some bread, both leaving deep seeded feelings unsaid. Afterwards, Aladdin led Jasmine over to the impromptu bedding and laid down on his side, scooting to make just enough room for one more.

"Is something wrong?"

Jasmine scrunched her face smiling awkwardly.

"It's clean, I promise. The straw is a little old, I'll admit, but I wash the blanket in the well least once a week."

She drew in a sharp breath, covering her stomach.

"It's soft…you don't have to worry about that. And I promise, my arm makes an excellent pillow." He winked, grinning boyishly.

"Yeah… Al… I just. I can't—Sleep with you. That is, I don't _want_ to." She actually did want to sleep next to him, maybe even kiss him as they held each other close. But Jasmine concluded she'd been violated too many times recently, and couldn't handle much more. It didn't feel right to snuggle up so close and be so vulnerable when they had only just gotten back together.

Aladdin chewed his cheek, making an unhappy face.

It was evident she'd offended him, but couldn't allow herself to back down. She needed her own space, and he needed to respect that.

"Al wait—" he left the house with a huff of air through his nostrils. Jasmine squeezed her stomach tighter. Maybe this too had been a bad idea. Apparently, she was full of them. She'd never seen Aladdin upset before, so she didn't know what would happen, if he would overreact, or calm down quickly. It was hard to know intimate things like that about someone you'd only known for three days.

Unlike with Aladdin, Jasmine knew everything about people closest to her; like Father, Razoul and… Jafar. She knew when Jafar was angry, pissed, and murderous. All three levels were closely in tact with the other, but she still knew what angered him and how to react accordingly. She also had seen Jafar pleasant, calm, and concentrating; like when he was in his room working—before she had tried seducing him. She knew more about Jafar than she cared to say; yet strangely, at the same time, knew nothing at all. He has smiled when Cruella made a pass at him, and though it had been offensive, it was more so bizarre. For a moment, it appeared he had a sense of humor: the reaction wasn't a forced façade, but an actual, meaningful grin. And that he was able to speak four different languages, and host amazing parties while settling age old disputes in under an hour. How could she feel like she'd figured him out one minute, and the next feel even more lost in the mystery that was Jafar.

Jasmine hadn't heard Aladdin come in and jumped dramatically when he brushed against her arm. He gave a cross look over his shoulder, walking towards the far end of the room. In his arms were a couple of blankets and something else used for another makeshift bed.

"You can sleep here tonight, then."

She rubbed the backs of her arms, still cocooning her belly. "Aladdin, thank you… I didn't mean to put you out of your way. And I certainly meant nothing offensive. I just—"

"Just what, Jasmine?"

Okay, Aladdin _might_ overreact. Jasmine recoiled from the embrace she'd started to extend his way.

"I don't really get it. I haven't seen you in weeks. I've been worried sick out of my mind, not knowing if you'd died or worse—thinking maybe you'd fallen for that sick bastard, instead of me—"

"—Come again…?"

"And now we're finally together, and you don't want to even come near me… I don't get what is so wrong with sleeping in the arms of someone you love? What… _crime_ was I committing trying to sleep next to you Jasmine?"

Jasmine bit her lip unsure what to say. Jafar and her were engaged—unwillingly and only technically—but even _he_ hadn't tried to make her sleep in his bed. This afternoon Jasmine had dolled herself up, and attempted to fornicate with the man, and no matter the reason, Jafar resisted. How then could Aladdin, a boy she thought was as virtuous as herself, assume he could cozy up against her backside? Surely it would lead too far, and they'd both be entangled in each other's sweat and skin. Jasmine couldn't handle losing her virginity that way.

Aladdin exhaled staring down at his dirt covered feet. She viewed him as a filthy rat like everyone else; he just hadn't wanted to admit it.

"Aladdin_…_"_ tell him you love him idiot. Who gives a shit how you lose your virginity, the boy of your dreams is right in front of you, begging for your touch. You were ready to jump Jafar's bones earlier, why not Aladdin's?_

That was the question of the century. Why not here. Why not with Aladdin.

"Thank you, Aladdin. For rescuing me tonight. I don't know what I would've done without you." It wasn't what she wanted to say. But it was sincere.

Jasmine appeared beside him, planted a swift kiss on the cheek, then went to lay down at her side of the room. If Aladdin was watching her, or had opened his mouth to try and say more, she didn't know it; keeping her back to him purposefully while getting comfortable on the hard floor. The entire day. Scratch that. The past _fourteen_ days, had been grueling. Jasmine's throat still smarted with bruises. Blisters, from working in the kitchen, blemished her hands. While the soles of her feet were chaffing from walking around in burlap shoes. Aladdin had no right to pressure her. With all his nosey questions, and implying he deserved a spot against her ass, Jasmine was turned off.

Maybe she was being too sensitive, it wouldn't be the first time her feelings were easily offended. Yet she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that everything was different—less magical than it should've been. They both seemed to have changed over the weeks. It could be Jafar's fault their reunion didn't go as imagined…Or maybe she never really knew Aladdin to begin with. After a few moments, the boy whispered goodnight and laid at the opposite corner. At least the subject had been easily dropped. Sleep quickly stole her away, Jasmine sucked into a dreamless and much needed slumber.

* * *

Time stood still, fading from existence for the young girl with cinnamon skin. It felt like she hadn't slept in years. Every moment around the clock Jasmine had spent either crying, screaming, or starving herself. Now that she'd found a place where her safety wasn't at risk, sleep was making up for lost time. Six days had passed, maybe more maybe less, Jasmine couldn't tell. And every day of it was spent with Jasmine dead weighted on the floor. She'd woken up only a handful of times, Aladdin encouraging her to eat when he could, and again he'd find her passed out on the cot.

It would have been more enjoyable had Jasmine been sharing Aladdin's bed instead of closed off across the room. No. He didn't want to steal her virginity. Although it was a thought, naturally, he was after all a twenty-five-year-old man. The look in Jasmine's eyes the first night made him feel like he was a monster for requesting her services in snuggling; but snuggling was all he'd wanted.

A week had passed in full, three weeks now since this entire mess began, and he needed her awake. Being alone was difficult, but even more so when the love of his life was just within reach, but out of touch. Aladdin planned to scrounge for food later, and wake her up with the smell of a delicious meal.

First, he needed to clean himself up. Usually he would just use the water-well down at the end of the street, but it was getting a little sparse, and it was better for him to get his share down at the river. Less traffic there anyways. Right before leaving, Aladdin stopped for a quick visit with a friend. Habib ran a trading post where he ordered foods and goods from outside of the city; and in his profession, had acquired the ability to read and write.

"I don't even want to know how you come into these items, Aladdin." Habib chuckled taking the necklace twirling it in his hand.

Aladdin smiled in his magnificent way, "Does it really matter Habib?"

Habib shook his head, still admiring the jeweled beads and Aladdin picked up a small back of lentils.

"You've never asked for lentils before. Is there a special occasion my friend?"

Aladdin clung the bag to his bare chest, and Habib could've sworn he seen him blush.

"Something like that."

The two bid farewell, Aladdin dropping off the bag at home, and kissing Jasmine on the forehead, before making the eight-mile journey to the river. His large clay pot carried under an arm.

It was barely sunrise when Jasmine stretched out on the floor, groaning as her back popped in several places. Children laughed in the street, playing a game with a rock and some sticks, while the marketplace readied itself for the long day ahead. Jasmine smiled at the sound. In the palace, she never heard the city, only silence of empty massive hallways and the running fountain in the garden. She preferred waking up to this instead. Her ponytail was a mess, half slipped out of its wrapping with baby hairs clinging to the smudged dirt of her temples. She smacked her tongue trying to get the dry taste from her mouth, then lifted an arm, daring to sniff at the ripe brown dress.

_Phew that's bitter._

Oh crap. Jasmine glanced around forgetting that her roommate must have borne witness to the disgraceful action. To her relief, she had been alone, Aladdin's bed made up before sunrise. She rummaged through the leftover trinkets Aladdin had piled in a corner, but there wasn't a hand mirror anymore. So instead, the little woman fashioned her hair into a low ponytail, struggling still to gather it all neatly in the clasp, but managed well enough. Now all she needed was some water to rinse her mouth and face, and maybe find a way to clean her servant garments. Even if Aladdin hadn't caught her sniffing herself, he would smell her stench from a mile away when he returned. And that was a dreadful thought.

She found a wooden pail against the building and picked it up, assuming it belonged to them. It was sort of fun playing house with Aladdin. Though she'd been sleeping for most of it. But she imagined their future would be simply wonderful; fetching water for him every morning, and them sharing breakfast. Then, after he'd gone to work, she would clean their home and prepare supper. Stopping for directions, Jasmine spoke with a friendly woman—playing peek-a-boo with the three children gathered around their mother's dress.

Carrying on her way, the fantasy replayed, then turned dark grasping all the issues laced in it. She didn't know how to cook or clean. And Aladdin didn't have employment of any honorable kind; He was a thief. Therefore, a permanent home was out of the question. The guards would always be an enemy and threaten their stability; no stability meant no children. And, should Aladdin refuse conformity, she would grow too old to make a family—becoming a maid with nothing to her name.

Jasmine stood in a small line and stepped forward waiting to be next. Her lip swelled from being bitten, but it was less painful than her growing worries. Maybe Aladdin would leave his thievery behind. Certainly, he wouldn't want that type of life for his future bride and offspring. He'd mentioned before that he felt trapped in this life, that he wished for a life in the palace over what he had here. Their similar feelings of entrapment had been what drew them together to begin with. Which meant he would change this situation if he could. All he needed was some motivation to do things the correct way.

" 'Ay, You there! What the hell do you think you're doing!?"

Jasmine straightened wiping sweat from her brow as she raised a pale full of water.

"You! Yes you! What do you think you're doing with that bucket!?"

Jasmine smiled sweetly, passersby vaguely interested by the man's shouting.

"Oh, good morning, Sir. I'm just getting some water?" Jasmine giggled embarrassed, "As you can see I'm in desperate need of cleaning up, so I just—"

"You just decided to _steal_ to get what you want?"

She pressed a hand to her heart. "What? No. I would never steal from anyone, Sir. I thought this well was for everyone?"

"That may be, but my bucket is not! I carved that myself and left it outside my doorstep! And you stole it!"

Jasmine lowered the heavy weight to the ground stammering an apology. She should've known it wasn't Aladdin's.

"Sir I'm truly sorry. Let me just find something to put my water in and I'll be more than glad to return what I took. I promise this is a slight misunderstanding—"

A yelp escaped her mouth the man charging at her like he meant to wrestle a bull. She covered her face eyes closed tightly ready for a blow. But when a strike didn't follow, Jasmine peeked from the crook of her arm, watching as he picked up the pail.

"I'll take back my bucket. And the water inside it!" He stomped, turning back for home.

Someone shoved jasmine causing her to stumble forward, a white-haired woman glaring at the insolent child for blocking the growing line. Jasmine let it roll off her back, chasing after the man and her water.

"No wait! I need that! I earned that water, and got it myself!"

"What do you want a gold coin!? Just like that street rat." He snorted, "Should've known. _Anyone_ who keeps company with _him_ is self-entitled like him too!"

Jasmine froze mid stride, "Are you talking about Aladdin?"

"Ha. Is that his name? We usually just call him a greasy rat. His little paws are always all over our things." The man turned extremely more unpleasant Jasmine having followed him all the way back up the hill where their houses connected.

"And if I ever see the likes of you two bothering with my property, I'll make sure ten guards are at your doorstep before sundown. Scurvy street mouse!" The door slammed in Jasmine's face and her eyes shut briefly against the harsh words.

* * *

Aladdin leaned wordlessly along the wall combing fingers through the mass of hair. Jasmine bit her lip waiting his response. It was a bucket of water, not that big a deal. On its own it had been taxing at most, and Jasmine just wanted to share it with Aladdin. Maybe he was mad someone disrespected her. Her belly warmed at the thought of him being protective.

"Did you umm…" He inhaled heavily, "Happen to tell him my name?"

Jasmine rethought the mornings events, "Well, sort of. Just so I could clarify why he was so angry. He would not accept that it was a misunderstanding and I—"

"But you told him my _name_."

"Yes…" a nervous smile dimmed, "Did I do something wrong?"

"Only if he also knows where I live now too." It wasn't a real laugh, but rather a paranoid chuckle.

Jasmine shrugged assuming their neighbor already knew Aladdin lived by them.

"Jaz." His head hung, thick raven swoops covering his face, "This is why I told you not to be going out of the house without me. I told you we needed to keep a low profile for a while."

"You did? I'm sorry, I didn't remember… I've been kind of faded all week," Jasmine tensed as Aladdin shot her a look she'd never seen him make before.

"So, I've noticed. You did sleep the _entire_ week, waking up only to eat the food I had to work hard to get."

"_Work_? You mean the food you _stole_."

"Does it matter? It's all the same. It is work regardless of the title you slap on. And I've had to work double since you arrived, and that only makes things harder. It's not as easy stealing meals for two, Jaz."

Jasmine hugged herself shivering from the chill of their argument. She hadn't meant to put him out of his way, and she hadn't thought she was eating that much food. It seemed she kept messing up wherever she went. Jafar, Geraldine, even Aladdin, grew quickly tired of her. Everyone expecting more than she was able to give.

Words came in a hushed whisper, "Al, I didn't mean to cause problems. Really, I only wanted some water—"

"He's going to rat on me, isn't he?" His eyes held a wild look.

"Who?"

A finger shoved towards the wall. "That man! Now he knows my name, and knows exactly where I'm hiding out. He's got every reason to turn me in for some reward… It's happening again. Each time I've brought you home with me I've had to leave it and find somewhere knew to hide."

Was he seriously blaming her for his lifestyle choices?

"I said I'm sorry Al… I didn't know that would happen. What else do you want me to say?" Her dander was up feeling threatened, "This lifestyle isn't exactly what I signed up for. It's not easy—."

"That's very accurate. It's _not_ easy, nothing out here is _easy_. This may come as a shock to you, but peasants don't have a fancy palace to run back to when things get hard. Those of us on the streets are stuck here for eternity. We're born into this lifestyle and die in this lifestyle, and we all do what needs to be done to survive."

A cart of apples rolled by on squeaky wheels.

"It may not be glamorous, and it may not fall into some perfect code of morals, but it's all I have. This is all I am, and all I can be. I don't steal, and run from the guards every day because I enjoy it. I do it because I don't have a choice." Aladdin stopped pacing for a moment, fighting to calm down.

"I didn't know…"

"How could, you?" He spoke softer now, chewing on words he knew might destroy her feelings. But someone had to say it. "Maybe you belong in the palace instead…this isn't your world. It's just a game until it's too tough, and then you'll realize _I'm_ not enough either, and run back to Jafar."

So, that's what it boiled down to? This was the second time he accused her of wanting Jafar and riches instead of him. He may as well have called her a covetous shallow slut since he was putting it all on the table.

"Wow… You don't have any faith in me. Do you? I'm just a spoiled rich bitch, using you for the thrill of it. Just here to dip my toes on the other side to see if it's greener? Is that it?"

His bare chest puffed. He didn't mean to lose his temper; this entire conversation had run away from him. "Jaz…I"

"No. Don't spare my feelings now. It's not like I'm a fragile piece of glass. I messed up, and put you at risk. Fine. I'll find a way to earn money, and I'll pay that man to keep him quiet."

Aladdin wired his mouth shut sensing dangerous territory ahead.

"I also promise to leave. I will find my own place by earning money the _honorable_ way; and I'll do it without cheating others, because I don't make pitiful excuses to get what I want." Jasmine turned away but wasn't done yet. "By the way, just because my blood is royalty, doesn't spare me from knowing heartache and sacrifice. I know more about it than you could ever comprehend."

Jasmine stepped up to his face, tears pouring out in exasperation; Aladdin stung paralyzed by what was happening.

"One day, when you're tired of running, you'll come begging for me to give you refuge. And because I know how it feels to be alone, and scared, without a friend in the world to defend you, I'll be there for you, no questions asked. And even though you've broken my heart, I will always have the one thing you can't steal." She licked her lips tasting salty tears, "A selfless love and compassion for others."

Jasmine wrapped a cloak covering all showing skin, then slammed the door. A hand raised to her chest as if it could pause the rapidly beating heart inside. Aladdin didn't call or chase after her. He needed to catch his breath too. She didn't want this to be goodbye, not really. A lot of damage had happened the past month, and the two of them needed some time together when they were both less broken and scared. Perhaps happily ever afters and true love weren't so magical; but that didn't mean she would give up on having one.

She stepped away from the hovel coming up with a plan of action, when a large crowd pushed past heading north towards the Palace. Jasmine almost didn't follow, but decided to join in with the heard and find out what all the excitement was about. Maybe some distraction could drown out the sound of her shattering heart.

A glistening tongue slicked over full pouting lips, her mouth running dry at the sight approaching. It was entrancing, the way Jafar gripped the snake staff possessively around the neck, how his shoulders were drawn back in calm domineer presentation. He was all powerful, all majestic, and all of what her nightmares were made of. She shouldn't be here, this close to him; even lost in a sea of faces, Jasmine feared the sorcerer would find his escapee. As Jafar stepped into view, all of Agrabah cheered, shocking Jasmine who stood in the middle of the craziness. Had Jafar bribed them all to greet him in such a way? Or were they all just scared of him and kissing his ass?

"He is going to do it, just you watch." A round bellied man with a thick brown beard spoke above the noise while clapping his hands. Jasmine tuned in.

"Just because he invited foreigners doesn't make him a savior; it means he's flashy. Showing off won't change Agrabah," Spoke another peasant.

"Citizens of Agrabah-" Jafar's voice was like honey and swarming bees.

"The moment of truth approaches Sayid. Just watch, Jafar will—."

Their conversation was muffled under the roar of approval, and Jasmine held her stomach. She really shouldn't be here. Jafar was planning world domination and the enslavement of orphans. What else was there to announce?

"My reputation as an almighty sorcerer precedes me I see." Jafar laughed hollowly, but his smile was still beautiful nonetheless. "In this moment, however, I come before you now with attributes of humility and veracity. For at my core I consider myself like you; the righteous, assiduous citizens of Agrabah."

The quiet had applauded into a frenzy once more. Just a few large words and stroking of egos, and folks were ready to fall onto a blade for a man on the podium tower. Jasmine tightened her jaw at the repulsive display.

Jafar raised a hand, immediately receiving silence from his subjects. "I am aware, firsthand, the pungent unbearable pain of hunger. I have endured blistering sores and heard the ripping of skin as men and children slaved away in back breaking labor. All in hopes of earning a shaving of a bronze coin. Such intolerable sufferings stop today."

Damn he was intense. Did he actually have those experiences, or was this another scheme in the game of manipulation? Even if it had been, no one in the crowd denied relatability, their heads nodding in agreement. Were things really that bad? Jasmine shrunk feeling guilty. She didn't know hardships at all.

"Inattentive leadership and incompetent governance has penalized my country, sentencing us to a fate worse than death. Our previous Sultan seared the ability of evolutionary growth and success of Agrabah. Now that a true King claims the throne, our Nation has been given a second chance at life. A rebirth into magnificent opulence."

Cheers grew louder than before, the city in elated convulsion. Even a few fell on their knees bowing. Were these people really so desperate for change? Her father wasn't a cruel man, but maybe the rumors about him were accurate. Which was painful to accept, and Jasmine didn't know what to believe anymore. Jafar was still an evil twisted traitor, no erasing that, but it was conceivable someone new needed to take control.

"I am a man who takes what he wants and appreciates the fleeting vessel of life's essence. Just before his untimely illness, Sultan Hamed could no longer deny that power is also fleeting and deadly when in the hands of lesser men. For that reason, Sultan Hamed has officially stepped down."

The dark-skinned man Jasmine had seen at dinner last week resumed position next to Jafar, along with Razoul. The general spoke mightily, announcing officially that Jafar was Acting Sultan. And they shook hands in exchange, and Razoul covered Jafar's neck with a white draping. Commoners of every sort hollered approving screams of adoration, whistling breaking out all over the square.

"And what is a Sultan, without a powerful Queen at his side?" Spoke the General.

Almond colored eyes snapped upwards. _Holy crap, he's caught me. He sees me and he's going to make a fool out of me, and force me back to the palace in front of all these people! I'll fight you, I'll fight the entire way, and I don't care if I have to draw a guard's sword, and cut off someone's hand. I'll fight you for eternity, and I will never stop! I will never be your queen._

Jasmine clenched her fist taking a stance.

Just like hypnosis every being in the gathering fell silent, holding their breathes while Jafar spoke to someone behind him. Then, to her dismay, a woman in beautiful scarves and jewels appeared next to Jafar. Only the roundness of her eyes showed, but it was obvious a beautiful flower laid beneath the fabric. The woman's gold embroidered gown danced under the peaking sun, and her eyes were outlined with beautiful makeup and shimmering dust. Jafar slid his arms around the woman's waist as she reciprocated the action, the two of them joining at the hip as they waved elegantly.

Jasmine's chest constricted, and she wanted to pull off the cloth from her face so she could catch her breath. The depths of her belly twisted as everyone cheered ecstatically, murmuring how beautiful the pair looked together, and how excited they were for the new hope the future Sultan and Sultana would bring.

_He replaced me…already?_

Brown eyes shimmered with tears. Maybe it was the feeling of being "dumped" twice in one day. Jasmine, unsure of the cause of pain that ate at her now, closed her lashes as Jafar spoke once more.

"Princess Jasmine and I shall be wed in one month's time. At which point, Agrabah, once again, will be a powerful force and the embodiment of amalgamation and illustrious eminence!"

Her heart thumped slowly, drowning out the crowd. Princess _Jasmine_? That woman was just a decoy? He'd dressed some random woman from the palace, and portrayed her as the Princess; using her as a symbol to ensure all was well within the palace. She couldn't explain why but her tummy somersaulted. He needs me still… and the people want _me_ as their queen.

_Well. It won't be that easy Jafar. I still don't want to come back._

Her previous encounter of nausea resided and the crowd began to disperse, Jafar and his mistress having left the platform.

"Good luck with that Jafar." Jasmine scoffed speaking aloud to herself, "Because I assure you, there will be no Princess Jasmine at your wedding, and Agrabah won't be fooled forever."

With a new sense of confidence, Jasmine puffed her chest, remembering the task she originally set out to accomplish, her burlap feet shuffling towards the brothel. She was going to get a job, and keep her promise to Aladdin. And hopefully, they could work things out from there. As for Jafar, she hoped he'd be panicked and that Agrabah would turn against him.


	8. Chapter 8: A Whole New World

"Holy shit! It's the little mouse! Samira look. This is the girl I was telling you about."

"Jas—_Yasmeen_ will suffice, Peach," Jasmine couldn't help but smile. Other than her lack of virtue Peach reminded Jasmine of Zarah. Both girls resembling beautiful dolls with curly brown hair and beautifully carved bodies. It was a little sad remembering the servant girl who had been so kind to her, but Jasmine shook away the thought. She'd rather never see Zarah out on the streets in a place like this. Jasmine stepped up the wooden stairs standing eye level with the two women in the doorway. "Hi, I'm Yasmeen It's nice to—Oh. Or just walk away from me. That's polite." Jasmine spoke to herself, now, standing alone with Peach.

"Don't mind her mouse." Peach hollered over her shoulder, "Samira's just jealous there's someone prettier than her!"

Jasmine covered her mouth giggling, "Peach, don't do that. I don't need someone else hating me."

"Ah, little mouse, I don't believe that for a minute. Who could ever hate a delightful thing like you?" Peach took the new girl under her arm.

"Please, don't call me that." Jasmine leaned into her waist as they walked inside.

It was a pleasant surprise that Peach smelled of sweet poppies instead of booze and men, which was a reminder to Jasmine that _she_ was still in dire need of cleaning up; not to mention a change of clothing.

The brothel was empty and tidied, much different to the ambiance she'd encountered last week. There were some shuffling noises and a couple of chattering women upstairs, but other than that, the building seemed peacefully still.

"Where is everyone?" Jasmine took a seat at the countertop as Peach went around the bar, setting down two glasses.

"Everyone who? You mean all the men?" Peach questioned pulling a cork from a dark bottle with her teeth, "It's closing time during the day. We only open our doors at sundown."

One filled shot glass was scooted across.

"And thank Allah too. We're a classier whore house, not like the ones you'll find upstate where they fuck around the clock. Besides, my back couldn't handle another pounding right now. I need a break."

Unnerving shouting made Jasmine feel on edge.

"Shut the fuck up and be happy you've _been_ slammed against the headboard," some woman with dyed light hair appeared next to Jasmine, Peach sliding her a glass of liquor. She was awfully thin, with little curves to her body, and her makeup from the night before was smeared around the eyes.

"Still getting the little ones?"

Jasmine worried her bottom lip wishing she didn't have to hear this conversation.

"I can't tell you how much I'm in need of a real man. Someone to fuck me properly instead of laying back while I do all the work." Her glass emptied and Peach poured another shot for the woman. "These little boys start earning some money, and want to blow it all here. And I'm the one stuck with them.

For some horrid reason, Jasmine predicted Aladdin would be one of those boys.

"I could handle all of that. All of it, if they didn't cum in under two minutes!"

Peach sneered, "So be happy it's only two minutes of work then, lazy whore."

"Go fuck a rod, Peach." She gave a wink, finishing off the amber fluid then hopped down to leave.

Peach made a face noticing the untouched shot glass. When Yasmeen said, it was too early in the morning for booze, Peach shrugged and finished the glass off for her. Peach watched as Yasmeen looked after the blonde woman.

"That's Coconut."

Jasmine whirled around astounded, "Are you all named after a damn fruit?"

Peach chuckled, a few tears doting her eyes. "We call her that because of the hair. She's always dying it that white color, and her skin is so dark. She looks like the in and out of a coconut."

Jasmine cracked a smile herself, stifling another giggle. "And you're Peach? Because of…" Jasmine shot a glance downwards suddenly embarrassed. "What's your real name?"

Peach's smile dropped, hesitating before speaking, "Tahira…"

Jasmine beamed, "That's a beautiful name."

"Yeah, well it's also a lie. It means clean and immaculate. What kind of fucking whore has that name? Allah cursed me with such irony so he could taunt me every time I squirt on a man's cock."

_What the hell was a squirt? Maybe another type of fruit?_

Jasmine sucked her lips underneath the back of her teeth, trying to know what to say. She still didn't have friends and was unsure how to be one, let alone how to deal with someone in this situation. But she knew, at least to a degree, how it felt to be unworthy and cheated out of a life you wanted. All she could do was give reassurance that nothing was set in stone; or at least she hoped it wasn't.

"Tahira suits you. It's a beautiful name, for a girl with a lovely, _immaculate_ heart."

The two shared a smile, but it was interrupted all too quickly, a large robust woman in a pink gown slapping one of the women with a broom. Making a weird noise that sounded like a goat in labor as she brought down the bristles on the woman's shielded face.

"Ummah…" Tahira said sternly but the woman kept on. "**UMMAH**!" Jasmine jolted in her seat nearly falling off, and the fat woman stopped, turning towards the bar top. Her nose looked like a swollen pig snout, and her eyebrows were unkempt and kissed in the middle of her wrinkled forehead. Her breasts were saggy, resting atop a round belly, and her knees were ashen and discolored. Jasmine thought they mimicked stubby tree trunks. Ummah glared for a moment longer, broomstick still clutched tightly in hand, and even the bricks of the building seemed to hold their breath.

"Peach, dear," Ummah lowered the broomstick, every person exhaling as she did. "I didn't see you there." Ummah and Tahira shared a kiss on the cheek, but it wasn't heartfelt. When Tahira directed madam brothel towards Jasmine, another strange noise emanated, cutting off Tahira's introduction.

"Oh, my Allah, who is this desert flower? Look at you… turn around let me see ya, let me see."

Jasmine blushed looking at her feet. She knew she was stunning; on her worse days, the strongest of men would fall weak with lust for her. But being spun around and analyzed by some random woman was awkward. Especially when Ummah made a noise that sounded like she was eating buttercream off her fingers, telling Jasmine she looked like an expensive treat.

Not hearing the question the first time, Jasmine had almost forgotten her lie, but quickly responded; Not wanting to get hit with a broom like that last girl. "Yasmeen Madam. My name is Yasmeen."

Ummah grunted like a hog, breathing heavily as she circled Jasmine like a vulture.

"Where do you come from Yasmeen? I haven't seen women this beautiful walk in to my business for years."

How was she to answer that? She'd never been anywhere but here—and even here had yet to be explored or learned about.

"Across the sea, Madam. No place I care to reminisce about."

Ummah crossed her arms looking the girl over once more and nodded. "I understand my child. Come, come, we must talk." Ummah took Jasmines hand pulling on her arm like she was a heavy Ox. Jasmine sped up trying to relieve the pressure off her shoulder.

Tahira was no longer behind the bar, Jasmine having searched for her before she had been pulled away, hoping to gain reassurance. When Ummah finally let go, they were inside a small alcove—Jasmine guessed it was an office—and there stood a large man in the corner. Powerful sculpted arms were crossed and his shaven head glinted from the open window's rays. If it weren't for the hateful look in his eyes, he almost reminded Jasmine of Razoul.

"Sit, sit, my child," Ummah plumped down at her desk as she shoved a piece of chocolate in her cow hole, "I won't bite my darling I promise."

Jasmine slowly sank down into a small seat, her eyes glued to the towering man in the corner. He wore a black vest with emerald embroidering along the sides. His harem pants were baggy and a thick forest green, with black shoes to match. A polished sword was attached at his hip, and he gave a brutal smile when Jasmine looked at it nervously.

"Allah yil'anek, stop scaring the poor girl!"

Jasmine cringed at the curse word. She'd said plenty recently, but never that one.

"Yasmeen, excuse the rudeness of my body guard. This is Dracul. He's Romanian so ignore his odd behavior. **_I_** do." Ummah and Dracul shared a look Jasmine couldn't read, but it didn't seem pleasant.

"I've come here to find work." Jasmine cut straight to the point interrupting the stare down. "And I don't mean as a sharmuta. I've never been with a man and don't plan on it anytime soon."

If Ummah's anger could be manifested into an essence, it would seep out of her pores like slime and suffocate its victims with a single touch. "A goddess, comes into my home… A virgin goddess no less, demanding she work _outside_ of the bedroom? Ha—That _is_ a funny joke."

Jasmine shifted in her seat.

"Fortunately for you, I have a sense of humor. Don't I Dracul?"

Dracul didn't smile but watched Jasmine hungrily. Not in the way Jafar sometimes did, but a different hunger. Like he wanted to chop off her head and scoop out the entrails for breakfast.

"Madam, I don't mean any disrespect. I only believe my services would be better put to use if I worked at a maid instead. I can cook, clean, help look after the girls when needed. Run any errands you might have. I'll wash the bedding, and— and whatever else you need." Jasmine couldn't help but stammer when glancing at the gargantuan in the corner.

Ummah chewed her chocolate covered lip for a moment, the sprouts of hair on her chin turning silver under the light. This was a ridiculous idea. All of it. Leaving Aladdin's home was a stupid choice; they could have worked things out if she didn't take everything so personal. Did it really matter if their future was shaky and unknown? That's what relationships were. Right? And no, they didn't know each other. At all. But that's what courting was for. At least Aladdin loved her. Or she thought he did. She couldn't recall him ever actually saying it back to her, but she knew what was in his heart. Or did she?

Why had it been so easy to give up on him the way she had? She should leap from this chair and run across the street and take him in her arms. She'd rip the vest off, shove her fingers into his pants, and take hold of his cock. As they would kiss, their tongues clashing in a wet hot mess, he'd harden, and she'd stroke him; Then Jafar would burst in. He'd kick the door down and pull her by the hair, tossing Aladdin against the wall as he threw her into the dirt. Crawling on his hands and knees he would bite into the meat of her thighs, her chest panting, knowing he would punish her but wanting it nonetheless. His digits would rub up and down her slit, climbing deep inside her. And the taste of him. Fuck, how she wanted to taste his lips so badly.

"_Yasmeen_…What the hell is wrong with this child? **Yasmeen**!"

The yelling forced Jasmine from her daydream, giving a guilty look of a child doing something wrong.

"Are you sure you don't want to work as one of my whores?" Ummah smirked nodding to where Jasmine sat.

Nails dug into curved handles, her legs pressed tightly together as if she were trying to keep something pleasant stuck inside her. It was undeniable she'd been fantasizing something sinfully delicious, and her two newest acquaintances had received a front row seat. Jasmine caught her breath releasing her grip and legs, muttering an apology.

"Listen, little mouse."

Fuck that incipit name again. She couldn't escape Jafar no matter where she went; apparently not even in her own daydream.

"I like you and all, but if you're not selling your cunt, I'm not buying. So, until your sense gets the better of you, I suggest you get the fuck out. And Dracul here better never see your face on these doorsteps again." Jasmine tried to argue, but cut it short when Madam's beef cake stepped forward.

Giving a nod, Jasmine stood, heading for the exit, when something came over her. Call it a demonic spirit, or the psychotic essence from being around Jafar too much, but whatever it was, it felt frightfully exhilarating. Her eyes felt like they did a 360 turn and the tips of her toes curled into the wood flooring. She was _done_ allowing everyone to push her around. A fucking spoiled Princess was all she had ever been, taking a lax lifestyle for granted. Well no more of that. A warrior at heart, her fires always lashed out on Jafar because he was the only one to ever challenge her. And she loved that he did. Fed off of the fury he built within her.

But since the entire world started beating down her throat, Jasmine had stopped fighting for herself, cowering under every dirty look and crude comment. Never having fought for anything real before, Jasmine had still waited for her dreams to be handed over on a silver platter. But she was done being a little mouse. Fuck that scared little girl. Right in this moment, she would be somebody else, do what Jafar said, and take what she wanted, because life truly _was_ fleeting. And if she would die out on the streets or here at the hands of Dracul it didn't matter. She would go down fighting, for once in her life.

"No."

Ummah paused mid-chocolate-popping. "Excuse me?"

"I said NO. You, fat, ignorant, greedy bitch." Jasmine slammed the door to the office shut, marching back up to Ummah's desk as she leaned with the heel of her hands. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? I could have you killed for speaking to me that way."

Dracul stood hand on his blade waiting for the slightest order from Ummah.

"Ha—So little street mouse thinks she's so bad? You have no power to do anything to me."

"Maybe not. But I don't need dictatorship, all I need is to catch you when you're sleeping. And when I do I'll gag your greasy hole so no one can hear you scream, not even Frankenstein here. And Then I'll cut off each of your fingers and shove them up your ass." Think like Jafar, think like Jafar. "Your disease-ridden tongue will be next, and I'll make you watch as I fuck my sweet virgin pussy with it." Jasmine lowered her voice embracing darkness like a well fit glove. "And when you beg me for death, and you **will** beg, I'll give it to you, cutting deep and slow; my blade ripping out your jugular. And I'll lick the syrupy blood clogging your lungs as it pours from your eyes."

There was a gang of women gathered outside the thin doorway all listening to the daring morbid threats. Dracul remained calculated, but his fingers itched hovering over his sword. Ummah didn't blink away from Yasmeen, searching for a weakness of any kind. But when Jasmine didn't waver Ummah spoke up.

"You're a sick crazy fucker, aren't you?"

"You have no idea." Mimicking Jafar was terrifying, but a little fun.

Ummah lit a cigar, sucking on it without grace. "You know… I need some sick crazy in my life…Alright, you have yourself a deal."

_What on earth!? Are you serious? That worked? That actually worked?_

Madam brothel swatted at Dracul's arm telling him to relax and get his hand off that damn weapon. Assuring that Yasmeen was no threat, only a crazy cunt.

"Lucky coincidence for you, I was in need of a new cook and maid. So, don't think I backed down to your threats, because I didn't."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jasmine raised a shoulder to Dracul who kept watching her, giving him an I-dare-you-to-mess-with-me look, then followed Ummah towards the exit. A huddle of women broke off scurrying away like frightened mice as the door swung open and Ummah shouted for them to mind their damn business.

"Our last chef left a few days back."

"Oh? Where to?"

"With any luck, hell. The fucking bastard died. Right there." Ummah pointed to a stain in the floor just outside of the kitchen entrance. Jasmine shied away afraid if she got too close death would be contagious.

"We've only two large pots for cooking, so plan your dishes accordingly. We feed them lentils, bread, and fish."

"What about vegetables?"

"Once a month at the beginning of the month. So, next week you'll have a small arrangement to work with, which lasts only a few days."

Jasmine tried to keep up as Ummah walked around the kitchen speaking quickly.

"Goat milk is given twice a week, one glass per girl. And no more than that. Don't want them getting fat. Booze however, they can have plenty of. Helps them loosen up and work better. By the way—."

Ummah put up a large arm halting Jasmine.

"What payment are you wanting?"

Jasmine thought of all the things she wanted but none of them were things she needed. Except, "A room please. To sleep. That way I can be here around the clock, ready to work whenever you need me. And… A half a bronze coin."

Ummah stroked the line where her neck and jaw meshed. "Deal. Take the empty one behind the staircase. It's next to the storage room."

Jasmine thanked her, Ummah explaining more house rules and the expected hours meals were to be served. After reminding Jasmine to clean up anything she dirtied, Ummah left, returning to her office and closing the door.

Making sure she was alone, Jasmine crouched down on the floor, placing her head between her knees to regain composure. She'd never in her life spoken so sordidly to anyone, the bitter foul words clinging on every taste bud like acid. A few moments passed this way when she let out a puff of air, standing to smooth her wrinkled dress. Hopefully soon she would be allowed to bathe too and get out of this disgusting sack.

Until then, Jasmine would get to work preparing her first meal. Three hours spent in the palace kitchen wasn't enough time to learn all the skills necessary for cooking. But hopefully something would pull together and be edible. She knew lentils needed water, thankfully a water pump was inside the kitchen, and she would need to get the stove lit as well. But it was like looking at a peculiar clay monster; she didn't know what went where or how a fire was started. Aladdin had made a fire with some sticks, so she'd start there.

The oven was a triangulated cone, dug into a hole with an opening at the bottom to stoke fire. It was lined with clean pebbles at the base and it appeared there was a ventilation opening leading out through the wall. In a corner must've been a pile of wood, but a small bit of twigs were all that remained, and Jasmine searched the area for another source of fuel.

"You look lost mouse!' Tahira teased.

Jasmine rubbed the back of her head getting up off the floor having hit her skull underneath the table. "Tahira, don't call me mouse. Please. I hate it."

"Don't call me Tahira anymore and I'll take it into consideration. What were you looking for?"

"I need wood."

"There's plenty coming tonight mama. If you want, I'll share with you." She winked and Jasmine rolled her eyes.

Tahira led jasmine out the back door from the kitchen, handing over a shovel. "This is fuel for now until we can get more coal or wood."

"What exactly is this?" Jasmine dug into the pile.

"Dried animal shit."

"It's what!" Jasmine flung the contents overhead on accident, the solid waste falling to the ground barely dogging the screaming girls. Jasmine made an ewe face, prancing on her toes around the dung pieces, Tahira clapping her hands in enjoyment.

"Come on. Get a pile and I'll show you how to light it. Seriously, Yasmeen, it's practically stone now. Stop acting like it'll attack you."

The two women chatted as if knowing each other for years. They surprisingly had a lot in common and Tahira had so many exciting stories of far off places. As they talked Tahira showed Jasmine how to start the fire, prepare lentil soup and bake laffa, another type of bread. Jasmine was beyond grateful, promising to give Tahira her share for helping with the work, but the woman dismissed the offer, nudging Jasmine jokingly when she said to give her a second helping at dinner.

"But if I do that, Ummah won't get her fifth helping. And she might wither away." Jasmine made fun which delighted Tahira. The two giggling like they were best friends.

"Well look what the cat drug in. Another filthy rodent, although this one looks fatter than the others."

Their laughter resided, attention turned to the woman in jade. Jasmine instantly recognized her as the rude ass who walked away when Jasmine tried introducing herself.

"Cool your twat, Samira. No one likes a jealous whore."

Samira sauntered forward, tossing loose curls over her shoulder. "Jealous, of this dirty little witch? Not likely." Eyes locked with Jasmine's while inhaling dramatically. "You smell like donkey shit."

Jasmine was getting ready to knock her clean across the jaw when Tahira stood in front. "Go swallow a dick Samira, it'll be the last one you can get after your clients see Yasmeen. Even on her worse day you look like a dog in comparison."

Samira snorted through her nose, ignoring Peach. "Just keep out of my way, little girl. Or I'll bite off your lips—And I don't mean the ones on your face." Samira bared large white teeth snapping them at Jasmine like a crocodile.

It was barely noon and she'd already had a fight with Aladdin and Ummah, she didn't feel like duking it out now too with some random whore. Besides, Jasmine wasn't here to compete with anyone. All she wanted was a bed and a fucking bath. Getting thrown out for fighting on her first day didn't make any sense.

"Not everyone is like her, most of us keep to ourselves and just work." Tahira nodded towards the swinging door, Samira having left with her nose held high.

"I'm not worried. I've dealt with worse than her before."

Tahira grew quiet. "Is that how you were able to scare Ummah into letting you work?"

Jasmine avoided eye contact, ashamed as she stirred the lentil soup. Had everyone in the brothel heard the horrible things she'd said?

"Don't look like that. It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one here can judge no one else. Besides, it'll help your reputation as a bad ass no one can touch." Tahira elbowed Jasmine's side playfully, "Anyways. I need to go. There's a long night ahead and I still haven't rested up enough from the last shift."

"I'll make sure to sneak you double Tahira." Jasmine called ignoring how her new friend cringed at the name.

"Call me Peach…Seriously."

"I'll take it into consideration." She winked turning away to stoke the fire, then was alone once more.

* * *

The lunch and evening meals went rather smoothly, thanks to Tahira giving Jasmine a head start in the right direction. The rest of the chores were difficult, but Jasmine was a fast learner she discovered, and picked up on everything rather quickly. She stored to memory who needed what cleaned when, names of each sharmuta, and which ones were pickier and highly demanding. It was odd being at the receiving end of this role play. She had always been the Princess, giving orders, being bathed, combed, dressed, fed; you name it, someone else did it for her. Now she was someone no one noticed, unless they were commenting on her looks; everyone bossing her around as if they were royalty themselves. Fifteen. There were fifteen women in the brothel, two as young as fourteen. Which saddened Jasmine. It had been a month since her sixteenth birthday and no man had ever seen her naked. While the rest of these girls had their innocence taken long before. They were rather brave, Jasmine concluded, and their bravery was admirable.

After the first night Jasmine collapsed in the kitchen, customers crowding the loft and rooms upstairs as midnight rolled past. Jasmine heard a crashing sound from beyond the wall, and stood, exhausted but determined to not wimp out. With a bucket and a towel, Jasmine headed for the broken glass, when someone pulled her back from the crowd.

"No, you don't. Dracul cleans up messes from any brawls or drunken idiots. Oh, Allah's sake, girl. You look like a hot piece of"

"Horse shit—Yeah I know. I've heard that five times tonight, Ummah."

"Well take care of yourself woman. You've done enough today, go bathe in the room outback. Besides, your smell is going to scare away the clientele." Ummah handed Jasmine some soap, oil, and a towel from her office, telling her this one was free, but from here on she'd need to pay for her own toiletries and non-essentials.

Jasmine walked through the kitchen and out the back door, where a small connecting building hid in darkness. The door was unlocked, Jasmine hesitant to go inside, but after lighting the hanging lantern, relaxed knowing she was alone. The room held two tubs, one for men one for women she presumed. It was smaller than the one in the palace, but she couldn't complain and found a pile of coal for kindling the water. Of course. Dried dung was used to cook food, but they reserved the coals for dirty bath water. Jasmine exhaled failing to understand these weird customs of her own people. A blaze started fairly easily and before long Jasmine was able to step into lukewarm water. She bathed quickly, wanting to be out of the dark and cold room. She felt too vulnerable out here in the back of an alley naked where anyone could come in. Jasmine removed the twigs from her hair, and scrubbed under blackened fingernails, her hands working in a sudsy lather over her breast, belly, and legs. The water was already discolored, but after rinsing her hair and body, she could no longer see the floor of the tub. Jasmine hopped out into the freezing cold room, and doused the fire as when leaving. She could put oil in her hair once back inside.

Her reeking rags should be incinerated immediately, but Jasmine had no other clothes. The thought of slipping back into them forced her to shudder. Instead, she wrapped a thin cloth around her waist, her breasts left exposed as she held the rags against her chest. Maybe Ummah had something she could wear. Toes left little footprints as she ran across the wood floor, thankful everyone was too drunk to notice her sneaking back to the bedroom.

It was the first she'd been inside the room, a lantern had already been lit causing the walls to glow orange. There was a small bed, a dresser big enough to hold two outfits, and a small mirror above it. The room was cold, but she didn't care. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed, and under a thick comforter instead of the mangled sheet she used at Aladdin's.

Guilt struck a chord.

_I'm sorry Aladdin, I don't mean to compare. I miss you and would rather be with you than here._

It wasn't his fault he didn't have much. He did what he could with what was given. Was this work any more honorable than his? It might not be. Even if she didn't sell her body, she still worked in a place of elicit actions and drunkenness. A supporter of the industry.

_"We do what needs to be done to survive."_

The argument came flooding back to her. She had been mad at him, not able to understand. But now she did, just a little bit. She would do what needed to be done. Even if it "may not be glamorous" and didn't "fall into a perfect code of morals." She'd earn enough money to pay off that man, and to hopefully one day get her own place. Until then she made a promise to herself not to bother Aladdin or give him any grief. She'd face him once able to prove worthy to live in his world. That would show him she didn't want the palace over the life he offered her. All she had to do was wait a little longer and bear through it.

A knock came against her back.

"Yasmeen, it's Peach. Let me in."

Jasmine quickly undid the lock and opened the door, still covering her bare chest. Tahira smiled drunkenly while swaying and let out a hiccup, "What happened to you?"

Her hair might be flat and stuck against her face, but Jasmine knew she didn't look like a train wreck. The beast before the bath? Now that was understandably a concern. "I bathed, Tahira. I just, don't have any clothes, are you okay?" Jasmine pulled Tahira inside, closing the door behind her, beckoning the sloshed woman to sit on the bed.

When she sat she sprang right back up on her feet like a playful kitten.

"Tahira, sit down. You're too drunk—." Jasmines lips twisted against a finger.

"Shh… Shh… they'll hear us talking. Ummah gets mad when I'm not working." She let her hand drop, and pulled out a small container from her breast pocket, throwing back more liquor. "Why are you naked, Yasmeen?"

Jasmine almost forgot too concerned with her new friend's state of mind, and briefly explained she didn't have a change of clothes. Before Jasmine finished talking Tahira stood before her completely naked.

"What are you doing!?"

"Take my clothes, you can have this dress. I don't need it. Don't worry, put it on, put it on. Go on then. It'll look better on you than me," Tahira smacked jasmines ass playfully, then went out of the room hollering, gaining attention from everyone in the loft who hollered back in approval as she cartwheeled naked, spreading her legs wide for everyone to see. Suddenly men started throwing cash at Ummah, everyone wanting to lay with the wild girl with brown curls.

Jasmine stopped watching from the corner, closing her door again after she knew Tahira was safe. Well, safe as could be given the circumstance. She allowed herself to be naked, dropping everything to the floor so it gathered at her feet. The gown was far more beautiful than she'd realized, and ironically, was her favorite color. A blue shade of turquoise. She stepped into the dress fumbling for a minute to figure out its unique design. The collar was fashioned out of bronze, clasping around at the neck where it held the fabric. Her breasts were slightly larger than Tahira's so it hugged tightly. Around her waist was a diamond cut out, giving her taut belly room to breathe, and it hung down to her ankles. It was shimmery, but less flashy than most gowns she had in the palace. The soft cotton of the dress tickled against the soft hairs of her mound, cool air kissing along her center as she twirled. Finally free from the itchy rags, it felt liberating and sexy to wear something so pretty. Too bad she had nowhere to go with all this pent-up arousal. The thought of running across the street to see Aladdin crossed her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was a free woman, and could go wherever she pleased. But…he wasn't who she wanted.

Jasmine collapsed against the bed sheets, crawling under the blanket as she blew out the lantern.

_"I'm sick of all these boys. I need a real man."_

Jasmine relayed Coconut and Tahira's conversation from that morning. When the blonde woman said boys, all Jasmine thought of was Aladdin. How he was a boy, and childish in so many ways. Ways in which _she_ even felt too grown for. Like his annoying excuses for everything and the way he kept making her feel like he wanted her **and** the palace. He had wished for her **and** to live in the palace. Once she'd left the palace to be with him, all he talked about was her returning to the palace. She felt a recurring trend building.

It started to feel like Aladdin wanted a get-rich-quick shortcut. That might not be the case, and Al might be doing all he could with what he was given. But that line didn't seem fair. He used her life against her in their argument. Labeling Jasmine as a spoiled brat since she was born in a life of luxury. But wasn't he doing the same thing? Lounging around, making excuses as to why he couldn't do any better, all while trying to find someone else to give him what he wanted? _He_ acted like a spoiled brat.

Times were tough, she gathered that information quickly. But thousands of peasants found other ways to work hard for their survival and provide for their families. These women here were a testimony to that. It _wasn't_ the life they wanted, more than likely, but they work hard every night and actually do what needs to be done to earn their keep. Now even she, a fucking Princess of Agrabah, who would never actually have to work and could run home, had spent all day shoveling feces, cooking, and cleaning. Breaking her back so she could prove to herself that she could do whatever she set her mind to. She earned this room and the meal in her belly. What the hell did Aladdin ever _earn; _or attempt to earn.

Jasmine shut her eyes trying to think of some way to excuse Aladdin, but an unintentional image popped into her mind. Jafar's speech today had been all about taking what he wanted, even though he'd come up from nothing. She didn't know his story, never thought of asking before now. But he seemed to know what he was talking about when he spoke of hardships and back breaking labor. Whichever way it happened, whatever his past, she couldn't help but trust that he had been telling the truth. He always told the truth, unless it was about planning to take over her kingdom, that part he hid. But he had been more honest than Aladdin had ever been. All Aladdin had done since day one was keep secrets from her. And Jafar came from squalor just like Aladdin and still found a way to work for what he wanted. And over the past sixteen years she'd known Jafar, he did work; very hard. Even now she knew that twisted bastard would be up in his chambers, throwing himself into his duties. She'd never once heard him complain, gripe, or make excuses. And Aladdin sounded like a whiny wind up toy on repeat; saying how trapped he felt in his lifestyle of swiping for food and ducking the guards. He was indeed a _boy_. And Jasmine was starting to itch for a man.


	9. Chapter 9: Trapped

An hour after the sun had risen, Tahira turned the scroll over for the hundredth time, fingering the inked smudges. She had read the same lines repeatedly on a loop after finding it nailed to a post, after her last client had left. Each time, reading it over, something about the message made her anxious. It could've been the morning vodka messing with her brain. Or perhaps complete paranoia and lack of trust in anyone—including herself—was to blame. Whatever the reason, something about this notice from Agrabah's Palace had given a check in her gut.

**_-_**_Royal Decree-_

_On this day, let it be known by the Palace of Agrabah, that the future Sultana, Princess Jasmine, has been declared missing. His majesty, Sultan Regent Jafar, has ordered that anyone aware of her Highnesses whereabouts, is to bring her forth immediately. Should Princess Jasmine be retained or otherwise, the assailant and any accomplices will be executed with the charge of kidnapping. For her Majesty's safe return, a reward of fifteen gold coins shall be awarded._

_\- Sultan Regent Jafar-_

She rolled her neck popping it in several places, then leaned an elbow on the bar top rereading the words; _Princess Jasmine is missing_. She didn't know why a missing princess bothered her. People went missing all the time in Agrabah, though no one hardly made fuss about the ones gone. Princess Jasmine had never once shown her face to the public before, making the girl seem like a phantom; a character in a bedtime story to give all the poor kids something to dream about other than death, starvation or fear. Even as an orphan Tahira would hear the tales, and pretend she was a beautiful princess too. Then life taught her, that lovely princesses and heroic knights in shining armor, were a load of crock. So, with all the reasons to not to give a shit about some decree, and a lost princess, why then _did_ she give a shit?

"Damnit Samira, give it back!"

"You really shouldn't try and keep love letters to yourself, Peach."

That stupid witch had snatched the paper from the other side of the bar and was now waving it around like a taunting sibling—three other girls gathered around to see what the fuss was about. Tahira took a stance of an irritated mother, digging her hands into wideset hips.

"You can't help yourself, can you? Once a bitch always a—."

"Oh, my Allah," Samira placed a hand to her chest in girlish concern, cutting off Tahira, "That _poor_ man."

All four women looked like they were about to faint right on top of the other; fanning themselves, covering their mouths. It was ridiculous how sentimental whores became when thinking about wealthy folks or royals.

"Just think, Samira," one of the women painted a dramatic image, "His majesty is all alone, up in the palace. Heartbroken and hurting."

Tahira rolled her eyes. That Jafar guy wasn't even a royal. All the girls just liked him because of his tight ass and wealthy status; not to mention he'd taken over Agrabah by storm. But it took more than looks and power to impress her, and she knew Yasmeen had the same mindset; another shared trait.

"Clearly Sultan Jafar is in need of a new queen to fill the Princess's shoes," A tall slender woman, Vada, added specks of delusion, "I wonder who he would choose for a bride."

Samira elbowed her in the ribs.

"Ow…I mean…" Vada rubbed at her sore spot cowering, as most girls did, beneath Samira's sinister glare, "It's _obvious_ who he would choose."

"Oh, there is no doubt," another ass kisser chimed in, "One look at you Samira, and the Sultan would walk over cut glass to get to you."

"For fuck's sake, shut up. The lot of you!" Tahira snatched back the scroll, rolling it up carefully. "No man in his right mind would choose Samira. Or any of us for that matter. In case you have forgotten we're whores. Besides, it says he wants her _back_, not to _replace_ her."

Yasmeen stepped into the conversation seemingly out of thin air, "Who wants who back? Is it that creep from the other night, Lilianna? I'll go get Ummah…"

Tahira grabbed Yasmeen's wrist, stopping her from heading to Madam brother's office.

"It's nothing Yas…Just some decree written by the Sultan Regent."

The look on Yasmeen's face was more than enough to cause Tahira concern. She'd never seen her friend go pale like that before; except for the one time Tahira had shared a crazy sex story involving a goat.

"It's a waste of time," Samira snapped tossing aside a strand of curly hair, "Princess Jasmine obviously ran away, and is never coming back."

Lilliana crossed her arms, "I don't think that's true either. The decree said she could have been kidnapped."

Samira went on ignoring the debate, "Good riddance I say, no one was ever allowed to see her. Obviously, she thought commoners weren't good enough for her, which meant she would have made for an awful queen. Besides. Sultan Jafar seems like a man who needs a _real_ woman who knows how to satisfy him."

Giggling broke out but Tahira remained fixated on her friend; who now was staring straight at the floor, holding her stomach. Every day since Yasmeen moved in, three weeks ago, the two girls had spent endless hours getting to know one another. And the evasive stare and stomach holding was definitely a sign that Yasmeen was nervous, upset, or irritated. Sometimes all three.

"Either way, Sultan Jafar will need to pick a new bride."

Yasmeen's eyes shot up, suddenly interested in what Samira said.

"But there's only one week until the royal wedding and coronation. That doesn't seem possible…" Someone else added to the tedious conversation.

"Oh, get over yourself, Samira," Coconut had joined in with the growing group, "The only way a man wants to see your backside naked is if he's sloshed and all the candles in Agrabah have been blown out."

As the women began bickering, shouting profane insults, Tahira noticed Yasmeen vanished back into the kitchen and quickly raced after.

"Little mouse wait. Mouse…_Yasmeen_." Tahira spun the girl around finally reaching her outside, near the bath house.

Tears were staining the turquoise fabric of Yasmeen's dress; eyes red as she rubbed at her small round nose. She'd only seen Yasmeen cry a couple of times over the month, and each time hated it. Crying was the worst possible thing to endure, whether personally, or watching someone else do it. The entire concept was meant as an act of weakness.

Still, Tahira tried not to cringe this time upon seeing tears. Yasmeen was the only woman she'd ever trusted, so listening to the instinct that said, _shut up and be a supportive friend_, seemed like the only way to show gratitude.

"Why are you upset, Mouse?"

"You know I _hate_ being called that." Yasmeen forced a gleaming smile through an otherwise grievous expression.

"Don't change the subject, dammit. … Yasmeen, tell me what's wrong, and don't you dare say 'nothing', you wear your heart on your sleeve."

Tahira searched Yasmeen's evasive doe eyes, insistent on making her devoted to the conversation.

"I thought we were able to tell each other anything. In just three weeks I trusted you to know things even my own _parents_ never knew about me."

Yasmeen's blotchy face scrunched, "But you never had parents…?"

"That's not the fucking point...," Tahira laughed swatting Yasmeen's arm with the paper. "You're my only friend, and I know damn well that I'm your only friend too. Which means we tell each other _everything_; even nasty ugly burdens. So, spill, already. How come this piece of paper upset you so much? Why did you look nauseated when we talked about Jafar?"

The atmosphere changed: the crazed marketplace out front, random shouting, slamming of doors and screams of children playing in the streets, all faded into the background. Tahira felt the world come to a halt and zoom in on the two women in the back ally of an Arabian brothel. Yasmeen didn't have to say anything aloud; her sad almond eyes had belted it loud and clear.

Tahira didn't know if she should feel betrayed that the Princess of Agrabah had lied to her for weeks on end; pretending to be a friend just so she could have somewhere to hide out. Then again, maybe she should feel relief, that the Princess she grew up hearing about was a real person, and much like herself. That there really were selfless and loving people in the world, regardless of social standing or wealth. No matter the case, Tahira needed to hear it from the horse's mouth, and waited anxiously for Jasmine to plead guilty.

* * *

How could she deny it any longer? The look on Tahira's face had pulled on her heart strings—not to mention Jasmine had been dying to tell Tahira the truth after the first week. All the secrets and lies had been eating away at her for almost an entire month; especially during long talks with Tahira, who, as a trusting friend, had always remained transparent, confiding in Jasmine to heed the locked painful secrets. And all Jasmine could offer in reply each time were half-truths on top of more lies. Like where she'd come from, her parents, and why she never wanted to go out in the streets during daylight. It was exhausting, making up crap, pretending to be someone she wasn't while going by a fake name. How Aladdin had pulled it off Jasmine would never know. She hated lying in general, especially to someone she cared for, and Tahira had easily become someone deserving absolute truth.

Jasmine yanked on Tahira's arm, dragging them inside the empty bath house where they could speak free of prying ears.

"What the hell, slow down," Tahira rubbed at the spot Jasmine had been gripping.

"Jasmine."

"What?"

"My real name is Jasmine… I didn't mean to lie to everyone. Or you, Tahira, but it was the only way."

Chewing at her cheek, Tahira didn't make eye contact, "So…_just_ Jasmine. Or _Princess_ Jasmine? There's kind of a big difference."

Jasmine shielded her stomach, sighing.

"Because if you're _just_ Jasmine, and you're running from the past and had to give a phony name, hey, I understand," Tahira raised her hands, "I know all about going by an alias to hideaway from troubles."

Jasmine gave a look that indicted it was the latter, and Tahira shook her head with an unreadable expression.

"So, so… the man you've been terrified of and running from, and finding out that your first love wasn't what you expected, and never having any real friends or anyone to open up to…Were those just _more_ lies so that I would think we had things in common?"

"No, those were truths…at least… half-truths. Tahira, please. I couldn't tell anyone, _anything_ about my former life, or who I really am. You saw how fast Samira and the girls jumped all over that decree. They would sooner replace me than help me. And Ummah would surely turn me in for the reward. I just—I couldn't trust anyone enough to keep this hidden."

"Not even me?" Tahira snapped more forcefully than intended. "Yasmeen…Jasmine…Your Majesty…Oh for fuck's sake I don't even know what to call you, now!"

How could Jasmine have expected anything less than this type of reaction? De ja vu hit with a flood of emotions, reminding her how upsetting it had been discovering Aladdin's deception. The pain was overwhelming when you discovered that someone you trusted and loved had built the relationship on lies. After weeks of laying the foundation, for what Tahira thought was an honest and open friendship, their relationship had been uprooted. The woman had every right to be upset or turn her over to the guards. It would only be fair. Besides, if anyone was going to get that reward money, it should be Tahira.

"Give me a head start, okay?"

The brown-haired woman pulled a face.

"Just give me an hour. I'd rather the guards find me far from the brothel. I'm not sure how Jafar would react if he knew I'd been living here."

Jasmine turned to go when she felt a hand clasp her shoulder.

"Don't be stupid." Tahira snorted, with equal parts irritation and amusement over the ridiculous ordeal. "You're not going anywhere."

"Tahira, please—."

"There's no way in hell I would ever allow my best friend to be left out on the streets just to be caught by some maniacal vizier."

Nervous laughter broke out and the girls embraced.

"You have so much dirt to spill, Princess."

Jasmine smiled into her friend's shoulder, laughing as their hug warmed her throughout.

"Jasmine, Tahira. To you, I'm _just_ Jasmine."

* * *

The next three days were rather busy than usual. The royal wedding was only four days away and endless amounts of tourists piled in for the deadline. Men and women of royalty and nobility had been invited, from outside the country, to stay inside the palace. While those of lesser wealth, but high social standing, stayed in the neighboring cities where the inns were much nicer. The rest of the commoners, and there were too many for comfort, were crowding anywhere else available. Everyone wanting to be as close as possible to the palace come the wedding day. Never missing a chance for profit, Ummah had turned the brothel into a coffeehouse by day, allowing everyone and anyone a hot meal of lentil soup and laffa. Then at night, the brothel was business as usual, with ten times more clientele and impeccable amounts of coin. Although Jasmine knew the girls would never see the profit from it.

She'd learned over the weeks that Ummah kept ninety percent of the earnings, and the girls only received ten. After they bought hygienic necessities, required makeup and uniforms, the girls were left penniless again until next month. Never able to hold onto enough to save up and leave. (Which was what more than half of the girls desperately wanted.) And it pained Jasmine to know none of them might ever receive the happy endings they deserved.

Because of the new business hours, Jasmine had been working around the clock, running like a chicken with her head cut off. Ummah had hired another helper in the kitchen, per Jasmine's constant demanding; a twelve-year-old boy named Rahman. He was quiet, but a hard worker, and very obedient to whatever Jasmine requested of him. Still, two meals a day for a couple hundred people was almost an impossible task. Not to mention the cleanup, and the meals she had to serve the girls, Ummah, and Dracul. Plus, Jasmine was in charge of changing any dirtied or stained bed sheets from the night before. Samira's bed was the one changed most. Jasmine didn't know how the hell those sheets were constantly stained with discolored fluid, and honestly, didn't ever want to. Still, Jasmine refused to complain, thankful to earn decent money and be able to remain too busy to worry about the decree, or a hundred other issues.

The only downfall was, Tahira and her had barely gotten a chance to talk since Princess Jasmine's identity was revealed. Somehow, even that was difficult to complain about—since Tahira snuck into her room last night with a bottle and they found a decent hour to sit and talk. The booze still hurt her chest, and she never drank enough to get drunk, but after a couple shots Jasmine would feel quite tipsy and her sore muscles would loosen up; along with her tongue. Last night she purged way more than intended, telling Tahira everything about Baba and the few memories she had of her mother. She told Tahira about the boy from the marketplace and his Genie, and how Aladdin had turned out to be less than ideal, but that she still cared for him. Most of the conversation, however, was spent talking about Jafar.

But today Jasmine doubted there would be any time for girl bonding. It was barely noon and visitors were flooding the doorway of the coffeehouse, all dying to get a table and something to drink; usually ale, or coffee. The atmosphere was extremely hectic, the loft having a hundred things happening at once, as families ate, and men held factions for discussing news, political criticism, telling stories and smoking shisha—flavored tobacco smoked through a hookah. Nonetheless, Jasmine found no reason to gripe; she'd prefer this lot over the ones that came at night.

Jasmine skillfully carried—and with impressive ease, she thought, beaming at her quick learning abilities and strengthened muscles—a large tray of food high above her head.

"Child, when will you marry me?" An elderly man watched Jasmine from his seat as she served the table of three.

"Oh Tadashi, you know I can't until I've earned enough here." Jasmine smiled playing along as she did every day the past couple weeks. "And when I do, and I have a home of my own, I promise to marry you."

Tadashi's thick white brows scrunched suddenly concerned, "Promise me you don't work as a Sharmuta, Yasmeen. That would break my heart, dearest."

Something about him reminded her of Baba, and tears stung the back of her eyes.

"No, Tadashi. I'm a servant and nothing more. Your heart can rest easy knowing you're the only man I have room for."

Tadashi kissed Jasmine's hand when she came back around, setting down the last glass of ale, and she kissed his wrinkly one in return.

As she cut through the scattered seats, murmuring broke out all over the café, all guests suddenly finding the front entrance exciting. Jasmine turned to see five robust guards walking in, Razoul at the front of the pack.

Time stood still and Jasmine found her feet nailed to the wood of the floor. Why now? The royal guards had never looked for her here. They must have assumed a brothel would be the last place a princess would ever be hiding out and since time was wearing thin before Jafar's wedding, "last places" were the only places left to search. Razoul peered around the loft of random faces, and Jasmine swore his eyes landed upon her; causing her to drop to the ground behind a table of five.

"Ah," Ummah met the men at the front, "What do we have here?" She gave a snorted laugh, and Jasmine covered her head, wishing that Ummah had gotten there sooner. "We don't offer our working girls until after sundown, but if there's a call for immediate attention, I'd be more than willing to offer _myself_ as a replacement. Especially, if it's with you," Ummah circled a plump finger over Razoul's muscular arm.

"I think not, madam," he stepped to the side forcing Ummah's touch to cease. "I'm sure you have seen his Royal Highnesses notice regarding Princess Jasmine. It is our duty to find the future Sultana and bring her home safely."

Ummah slapped a hand across saggy breasts, "Oh Allah, you're from the Royal Guard? I should have known better than to assume gentlemen of such high standing would be looking for company of whores." Ummah gestured towards her office, "Please come inside and—."

Razoul became annoyed, snapping back a response. "Ma'am, I haven't the time nor the low-self-esteem required to walk further into this place of squalor. Direct orders from Sultan Jafar have been ordered of _all_ of Agrabah in the cooperation of returning her majesty. Do you know where she is, or _don't_ you?"

Sheesh, Razoul could be cantankerous, but it served Ummah right. Jasmine grew sick of how fake the ghastly woman was when she saw a profit. But the instant anyone became useless to her, she'd beat 'em with a broom, or worse, and sometimes would sick Dracul on them when needing someone permanently gone. Served her right to get yelled at and be embarrassed in front of everyone.

_You go, Razoul. If you feel like smacking her across the face, that would be good too. Then leave. Please, just leave._

Ummah pulled free the pink fabric caught under a stomach fold. "What does she look like?"

No one in the café spoke, which made the pounding of Jasmine's heart sound all the more deafening.

"Black hair, brown eyes. Goes by the name, _Princess Jasmine_," large teeth gritted.

Ummah scoffed. Sarcasm was _her_ thing. "That description fits ninety percent of the Arabian population. I need more than that to go off of."

Razoul's chest puffed, indicating a deep breath was needed to calm himself from smacking the smug woman, as he pulled something out of the black uniformed vest.

"This is a portrait of her majesty… Now do you recognize her, or not?"

_A portrait!? Shit, shit. Please, Allah, let it look nothing like me._

Jasmine covered her mouth, feeling like she might burst into tears at any given moment and give herself away. Who the hell painted a picture of her? And most importantly, why hadn't she thought of this beforehand? She would've dyed her hair like Coconut and kegged on makeup everyday had she known a picture was going to be passed around. The second Ummah recognizes her as the Princess it would be the end of the line. That terrible woman would gladly choose fifteen gold coins over her own offspring, let alone a servant girl.

Razoul would steal her away and Jafar would marry her by the end of the week, like promised during that speech in the square. She'd never see Tahira again, or the girls, and all her hard work would have been for nothing.

The lines of Ummah's snout deepened. "Did a five-year-old draw this? Or perhaps it was just you, _big man_?"

Razoul snatched back the picture unamused, losing patience.

"No…"

"If you are lying woman, it will mean your head."

"I've never seen _that_ girl before in my lifetime. Now, unless you, and the rest of your sword swallowing gang are here to give business, get out of my home."

Razoul scanned the area again, slowly, as Jasmine continued watching from the floor of her hiding spot.

"Now!"

Dracul appeared, mysteriously as always, next to Ummah and the two brawny men looked like they'd draw swords at any moment. Then, after what felt like eternity, Razoul signaled the rest of the guards to go, still keeping eyes on Dracul and the beastly woman, before finally turning to leave.

Just as suddenly as everyone had stopped to watch the drama from the front of the loft, the noise picked back up again, everyone resuming their previous activities, seeming not to notice the girl sprawled on the floor.

It felt like a bomb had exploded inside her chest and Jasmine was unable to move or breathe.

"Jasmine…" Tahira whispered as she stooped down to help her friend. "Come on, hurry up… Get your ass up woman, let's go."

Scrambling to her feet Jasmine allowed Tahira to help her up and the two darted through the crowded room and towards the kitchen. As they headed for the back door an unfortunate voice stopped them dead in their tracks.

"Well, well." Ummah stepped further in the kitchen as the two women slow turned back around. "I think we have _a lot_ to discuss…_Princess_ _Jasmine_."

* * *

A sinking weight pulled at Jasmine's belly as she sat in Ummah's office, yet again, under the watchful stare of Dracul and Madam Brothel. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes, trying to grasp how everything had come undone so fast. Ummah rambled on about deception and broken trust, etc. But Jasmine didn't hear a word of it. If only she had been turned over to Razoul right, then and there. That would have been less painful than the lecture she had to endure now. Finally, Ummah paused to suck on a cigar, and Jasmine slowly raised her lids, watching patterns of the wooden floor.

"I'll make you a deal, Jasmine."

_Oh great, this should be good. "Give me every ounce of your fortune and I'll give you a five-minute head start in return." Please, just get it over with already._

"I won't turn you over to that asshole guard if you agree to one thing."

"Yeah, Ummah, and what would that be?" Jasmine rolled her neck to look up in annoyance. "Lemme guess, you want and arm and Beef-Cake wants a leg?"

Ummah laughed in the fake way she did when conducting business offers. "Close, Jasmine. Very close. But seriously, no. I want you to be one of my working girls."

Jasmine rolled her eyes, exhausted by the same conversation Ummah had dished out a thousand times. The woman never let up about the damned subject, always throwing in a snide remark or comment about how she would bring in way more money selling her cunt than washing dirty rags.

"Not this again, Ummah."

"Fifty-fifty."

Her head raised out of her hands, suddenly alert to the conversation she'd otherwise opted out of.

"That's right, girl. You heard me. Equal split. You'd be well on your way to getting that home you're always talking about, and my brothel would be racking in a fortune, selling off a pretty little thing like you. Men would come from miles around, just to have the honor of throwing coin for an exotic princess."

Ummah scooted out from the desk coming around to sit at the front edge.

"You'll have the best room, get only the best clients, and in time, you'd be able to afford a nice little home all of your own," Ummah stood waving to the air, "Or travel, get out of the country, keep your identity hidden for as long as you live. Do whatever the hell you'd like as a _free_ woman."

Jasmine leaned back into the creaky chair, contemplating each word. _Free_. That's all she'd ever wanted was to be free.

"Or, stay here, be captured by that skinny _delicious_ bastard, and forced into a lifelong loveless marriage. The choice is yours alone."

She needed time to catch her breath and chew on all that was before her. Tahira was her dearest friend, but she had already burdened her with enough. It didn't seem fair to try shoving her future at Tahira too. Which meant there was only one other person she could seek advice from. Jasmine requested to have the rest of the day to think it over, and promised that either way she would return with an answer. With slight hesitation, Ummah agreed, shouting that she wouldn't wait forever, as Jasmine bolted out the door.

Aladdin's home was across the marketplace and usually visible from the brothel at night when less folks were about. But in the past few weeks, since Jasmine had left the hovel, she never so much as looked towards his home. It was too painful to think of him, knowing he believed she was too weak and fragile to belong in his world. And as she kept the promise to not run back until she could prove herself worthy, the boy and the magical love they had shared dimmed from existence. Jasmine too lost in her work and new life to want to reflect on the past.

But now, as she covered her face and walked across the trafficked roads, all the memories came flooding back—and she hated the feelings their presence carried. The house looked empty, but no more than usual, and Jasmine stepped inside without knocking.

"Al…" she unwrapped the sash looking around the small area, "Aladdin?"

But there was no trace anyone had been there for a while. Gone was the cot where she had slept, as was the bedding in the alcove behind the drapes. The dirt covered floor was barren, deprived of knickknacks or any traces of food. A hand flung up, brushing the heat from her brow as she continued to scan the empty room, expecting, somehow, that Aladdin would appear from thin air. That's when it caught her eye. A small, carefully folded piece of paper stuck out of a hole in the wall, and she swallowed dryly, removing it; the ritual reminding her of painful memories she had forced herself to forget.

"My love,

I have gone to find more honorable means of living. Do not look to find me. When the time comes, I shall find you. This is not the end of our love story, only the beginning of the next chapter. Wait for me, as I waited for you.

-Al"

Jasmine reread the note three more times, bewildered. How long ago had he run off? Was it the same day she'd gone to the brothel? How did he know she was safe, or that she hadn't ended up somewhere terrible? He left without saying a word, and then told her to wait for him. Wait for him to do what? Come crashing in and save her at the last minute? This wasn't a damned fairytale, or some fucking love story. This was her life!

"Aagh!" a scream was the only way her heart knew how to respond.

The letter crumpled into a tight ball and Jasmine hurled it across the dirt floor, her back pressing into the clay wall as she slumped down into the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

"What am I supposed to do Aladdin? I can't wait. I don't have time for waiting. I needed you. Here and now, I needed you. I don't know what to do…I don't know what to do."

It was unclear how long she sat, weeping into her arms, but it felt like hours. Crying wouldn't solve anything, it never did; still, Jasmine allowed herself time to break down in the comfort of solitude for a while longer. But as the sun slowly climbed its way down, Jasmine knew a decision needed to be made. And she alone had to make it. No one could decide this for her; not Tahira, not Baba or Aladdin. For the dozenth time, Jasmine was alone, stuck in a position she would have never dreamed possible. Was it so bad living in the palace with Jafar, knowing that he might snap and kill her at a moment's notice?

_Yes, and hell yes._

Why had she left the palace in the first place? Did she really believe everything would be better outside of those walls? And that Aladdin would rescue her and they'd get married and run away together with a perfect happy ending?

_Stop torturing yourself. Yes. You were an idiot and a delusional little girl._

So Ummah wanted her to fuck a bunch of strange men. How was that possibly any worse than being on the run her entire life with Aladdin? Or being trapped inside the palace with Jafar in a loveless union.

_Trapped. You'd be trapped no matter which path you chose. Trapped in a life of fear and running. Trapped in a life of prostitution. Trapped in the clutches of Jafar. No matter where you go, you will always be trapped._

Snot glistened on the back of her hand from whipping at the evidence of crying. She was trapped. Not just her. Everyone she knew. The girls in the brothel would forever be stuck there. And Aladdin, despite his letter, would always be trapped in a life of poverty and running. And perhaps Jafar was trapped too. Lost in a world of such darkness and evil that he couldn't escape it if he tried.

She longed for freedom all her life, despising the walls that closed in on her. Now, after everything, she still found herself smothered beneath boundaries. Maybe no one got happy endings or miraculous-no-chains-attached freedom. It was possible life wasn't black and white, and there was too much grey matter in between to decipher what was just and unjust. People lived and died all while working against the complications of everyday life. Each of them just had to find the beauty in between the ups and downs. She could work with what was thrown at her, even if it wasn't what she wanted, and even if it made her want to throw up thinking about it.

To leave Tahira behind was an unbearable thought. Or any of the other women for that matter— although Samira she could do without. But if her best friend found strength in a decrepitating line of work, why couldn't she? Maybe after, there would be enough money saved so the two of them could run away together to a new city and start life anew. They could manage a business of their own, a nice little coffeehouse, serving breakfast lunch and dinner. And they could take in other women who needed help escaping harsh pasts. All Jasmine had to do to achieve it, was buckle down and grow up.

With that, a decision was made.

* * *

At this rate, an entire bottle of vodka, gin, rum or whatever else could be found in the brothel bar, would not be enough alcohol to dull her senses. Tahira had given Jasmine four shots. That was double what she was used to and Jasmine was already easily overcome by the usual two. But tonight, she wasted no time allowing herself to get drunk; even though it still wasn't enough. If it had been up to Jasmine, she'd have taken enough drink to black out, but Ummah yanked the fifth shot away saying that a sloppy sick virgin would be bad for business.

Jasmine's head spun—stomach bubbling against the poisonous fluid settling deep inside. When the hell would the bidding finally be over? The second Jasmine had left to sort things out, Ummah had already assumed position, knowing somehow or another, that Jasmine would agree to the deal. By sundown every man from here to England had probably heard the news that an exotic virgin was on the market. A mile-long line had formed outside of the brothel by the time Jasmine had returned; all waiting for a chance to be the highest bidder for her virginity.

The shouts from below the stairwell was nerve wracking, making Jasmine to hold her gut anxiously while waiting in her new bedroom. Even though it felt like the end, she forced herself to believe this was a beginning. A man would lay with her. Than several more. That part would suck, yes. Then, before it began, it would be finished, and Jasmine would be in a new home, in a new city, with a new start. And soon _this_ would fade like the rest of her past. In order to get through the next few months all she needed to do was shut down her mind and heart.

It was difficult to tell, but it sounded like the highest bidder had been selected, as loud grumbling and commotion confirmed Jasmine's worst fear. Minutes quickly became seconds, counting down to the moment when the one remaining, precious thing about her, would be stolen.

Irony. That was the only word coming to Jasmines mind. Since fourteen, father had tried to make clear the importance of taking a suitor by the time she turned sixteen. All their bickering, and countless times she shunned him, turning a cold shoulder in defiance, had left their relationship strained the last two years. Simply because she refused to be with someone she didn't know, let alone didn't love. Now here she was, dressed in a see through glimmering gown, shaven, bathed and decorated like some prize to be won; ready to spread her legs for a random commoner.

One thing was for certain. After earning enough money, Jasmine would find a way to see her father again, and tell him how terribly sorry she was for not listening to him. For constantly giving him more heartache and trouble than she was worth.

Heavy footsteps sounded down the hall; their heavy weighted steps counting down the seconds one by one. Five. Four. Three. Two. Jasmine clenched her jaw demanding to stay in check and not cry. It would all be over soon. Later she could cry, and scream, and throw things. But in this moment, she refused to feel anything—other than the burning fluid in her gut and the tingling in her fingers.

The door opened and all the pep talks in the world could not have prepared Jasmine for the man in the doorway, her mouth falling open in disgust as Dracul stepped in, closing and locking the door behind him.

"You?" Jasmine vulnerably took a step backwards. "_You're_ the highest bidder? No, don't. Don't come any closer, Dracul. I'll get Ummah. I'll scream and she'll go ballistic to see you in here."

"Ummah does not frighten me," Dracul's voice was thick with a deep Romanian accent.

"Dracul stop," the bed was the only thing between them, as Jasmine hid behind its end post. "I go to the highest bidder, I—Ummah will kick you out on the streets!" It was difficult to find leverage when dealing with a psycho woman killer.

He watched her with that hungry look again imagining all the ways to devour a virgin princess.

"Who do you think sold you to me? Ummah handled the bidding. I just payed."

This was beyond okay. This was the farthest thing from okay. In fact, there were no words in Jasmines vocabulary to explain exactly how much bullshit this situation was full of.

"Don't worry, little princess."

Dracul made a move and Jasmine jumped on the bed for an escape, but was slammed flat on her back as Dracul loomed over her shoulders, positioning himself over her forehead. Her eyes tightened, trying not to look up at the massive groined, and felt slightly thankful that it remained hidden inside it's compartment instead of being flopped out on her face.

"I will give you the royal treatment."

* * *

Tahira couldn't focus on the job beneath her, mindlessly rolling her hips as she rode another faceless man. Jasmine was two doors down from where she worked, and all that could be heard was something breaking, and then some shouting from what sounded like Dracul. But Jasmine never made a sound, and that was the most unsettling part. Her client created awkward yelping, shuttering as he came, gripping her hips, forcing her down harder on himself.

"Done?"

He murmured a yes as Tahira slid off, telling him to hurry up and get dressed; then, she pressed an ear to the farthest wall, desperately trying to listen for her friend.

* * *

"That's it. Be a good little girl for me."

Dracul forced Jasmines cheeks together clasping her jaw with a meaty hand eyeing his masterpiece.

"As bad as that hurt, it did you some good, yes? _Yes_?"

Jasmine gave a nod still refusing to cry as she kept passive.

"I only have you for the hour, but will use you whenever I please from here on out. For _free_. Yes?"

She blinked a response and Dracul let go of her face; stepping backwards to sit on the bed when the back of his legs met the edge.

"Now. Show me your tits."

_Just hurry up and get it over with. It doesn't matter. Feel nothing, cry later._

"Slower…"

Pausing, she slowed down. One finger at a time Jasmine scooted the gown off her shoulders, freeing round pert breasts into the cool air, their dark nipples hardening in response. Dracul licked his lips, calling her over with the crook of his finger.

Thankfully, he didn't say a word. Instead he struck her thighs, Jasmine spreading her legs inch by inch in compliance, stifling a cry after each smack came harder than the last. When standing wide enough, he gripped at her ass with both hands, spreading her cheeks apart as he forced her into his lap; Jasmine struggling to keep her toes on the ground while straddling him.

She stared into nothingness, refusing to acknowledge what was about to happen as Dracul hiked up the rest of her gown so it bunched at her midsection. When the air nipped at her shaven taint, Jasmine could no longer fight the rising terror, her body trembling in fear. Dracul's finger dipped into the folds of her cunt as he smoothed up and down the silky lining. The touch of a man was different than when she touched herself, but not in a good way. Dracul was rough, pressing hard against her center making it hurt as he growled into her shoulder like a wild boar.

_Imagine something else. Anyone else! Anything else, but this. You're on an island…_

A finger met at the tight entrance before ramming itself inside; oh, how badly it burned, her muscles clenching, aching to be rid of the invasive object.

_Fuck. Not an island. In Aladdin's home. I'm with Aladdin._

But the fantasies weren't working as Dracul dug a second finger inside. Jasmine's entire body screamed in agony, begging for her to jump off and run, and she bit her lip oppressing screams of pain.

_Jafar._

Jasmines breath caught, suddenly feeling a slight moisture gather, as Dracul pumped his digits deeper. That was it. That was who she would think of and his name made her body ease.

_You're with Jafar. And you're in his bed, in the palace. Jafar is kissing you, and he wants you, and only you._

Dracul made another animalistic noise at the abundance of thick fluid coating his fingers—finally ready to spread it on his cock

_Jafar. It's Jafar. You can do this. You can do this._

Her eyes remained wielded shut, blocking out anything that would remind her she was in a brothel, with a man more malicious than her worst enemy. This time, instead of feeling embarrassed by her vivid imagination, Jasmine allowed herself the freedom of indulging in guilty pleasure.

_I'm yours, Jafar. I want you Jafar. I **need** you…_

An explosive crash ripped Jasmine from the vision as the door to her room snapped in two. Jasmine's face reddened—Dracul's fingers still buried inside her as Jasmine's eyes locked with the tall powerful man in the doorway.

_…Jafar?_


	10. Chapter 10: No Good Deed

_Sometimes the hardest decision, and the right decision, are one in the same._

Razoul finished searching another home, but his heart wasn't in it. Instead the words of his father ate at his ear, recapping the wisdom bestowed upon him when he was just a boy. Someone from his team shouted out the next location they were to look for Princess Jasmine, and Razoul fell behind, slowly making his way to another pointless destination. She wouldn't be there.

Why on earth didn't he bust her in that coffeehouse brothel? Within seconds, one word, and Jasmine would have been taken back to the palace and all of this feeble searching would finally end. He was never one to choose feelings over duty, but this time his heart ruled out the responsibility of ratting on Jasmine.

She had looked so …_happy_. How was that possible? The Jasmine he knew would have fainted enduring hard labor and sat in a corner crying if someone told her what to do. But there she'd been, serving commoners with that sensational smile of hers; cheeks brightly colored meeting her laughing eyes. A glimmer she hadn't worn in many years. Plus, it looked like she had gained some needed weight, looking stronger and healthier than ever. That was good. It meant she was well fed and taken care of. Who was he to tear her away from happiness when it so often eluded her?

"Razoul, we've searched every building in Agrabah; every shack, home, pub, every last shit smeared dump, and there is still no sign of her." A scrawny guard, Nadhr, with inflated self-worth strode alongside the Captain of the Guards. "How long will you force us to endure this goose chase? Every day for a month straight-The men are tired of looking. Face, it Razoul, Jasmine is gone."

Nadhr was grabbed by the collar of his vest and lifted off the ground, his nose squishing against Razoul's.

"Get **back** in formation maggot. Before I pluck the skin from your mouth for disrespecting a superior and the commandments of Agrabah's Sultan Regent."

"Yes sir…" Nadhr sniveled. With a toss, the soldier plummeted, forming a dirt cloud as he fell, then waited to rise until after Razoul had passed.

Taking the lead of the pack once more, Razoul pretended to be sure of their route. Promising his men their Princess would be found soon. In truth Razoul was buying time until sundown, fighting through the grim decision that needed to be made. To figure out if his heart was sensible or if it dangerously clouded his loyalty to obligation.

Jasmine was safe right now but what about at night when the brothel was over flowing with drunk, sex-crazed hooligans? The pig in pink and the gargantuan in green made his skin crawl—almost as much as it did when enduring the wrath of Jafar. What would happen should they tire of Jasmine or find her useless? If she made a mistake or back talked to the wrong person. Would she be beaten? Or worse...?

On the other hand, would Jasmine be any safer with Jafar? Jafar could as easily have her whacked and find himself a new bride. Which is precisely what may happen, should Jafar learn her place of employment. At least Jasmine wasn't with the street rat Aladdin, which might lessen Jafar's fury. However, if she had lost her virginity at all, it wouldn't matter who took it and Jafar would dissect her feminine parts with a dull blade as punishment. That thought set Razoul's teeth on edge.

During Jasmine's absence, the same guests from the dinner party had been invited to return for the upcoming wedding; two weeks was far too long to endure looing after pompous house guests. As annoying as the lot of them were—drinking all their booze and eating all their food—Razoul had been thankful for their distraction which forced Jafar to retain a mask of normalcy; even though it was obvious to the staff he was coming unraveled at the seams.

Yesterday, Jafar held a private meeting with the royal guards and all of the palace staff, threatening that if _anyone_ was hiding Jasmine from him a brutal fate would ensnare each one of them. Geraldine had rolled her eyes, never one to quiver and shake—Razoul admired that. Which was more than he could say for his men who trembled while murmuring apologies; a few of them even became teary eyed when Jafar said he would burn down all of Agrabah if Jasmine wasn't found come the Royal Wedding. Cruella since had distracted Jafar enough to keep the flames at bay, but it became abundantly clear that if Jasmine wasn't procured soon, every living creature within miles would have the flesh melted from their bones; including women and children.

_I wish you were still here with me father. You would know what to do. "Sometimes the hardest decision, and the right decision, are one in the same."_

The same quote hit with another wave. Razoul knew what needed to be done; but he didn't like it in the least. Her Majesty didn't belong in a whorehouse. She was obligated to take position as Queen and that meant being home in time to marry Sultan Jafar.

* * *

_Where are your balls man? Do it already!_ _Please forgive me Jasmine, but I'm only doing what's best for everyone._

"Go…_away_," came the slow monotonous tone of his superior, startling Razoul before he even knocked.

Razoul gulped and reached out again, this time actually rapping on the patterned door.

"Touch the door again, Razoul, and I will slice open each one of your _blasted_ fingers."

Behind the safety of the closed door Razoul rolled his eyes, then went in ignoring a threat that would easily come true if he didn't speak quickly.

"Your Majesty—."

Jafar stood over the mantel of the fireplace drinking deeply from wed wine. Razoul's muscles tighten waiting for Jafar to acknowledge him. When he didn't the guard attempted to speak again—unfortunately Jafar was in no mood to listen and bitterly cut him off.

"One month…"

Razoul made sure not to breathe too loudly.

"An entire month, wasted!" his wineglass shattered engulfed in flames as Jafar screeched, whirling on Razoul, "And all that _you_ have done is _fail_!"

Razoul knelt down submissively looking to the floor.

"What use to me is a moronic overweight prick?"

As Jafar's eclipse snuffed out surrounding light, Razoul's intestines curled—moments when Jafar became rancorous is when all of hell quivered. The psycho was so unpredictable.

"If you don't find me that abomination of a woman, your head, and the heads of every guard will serve as payment!"

A shower of spit rained on the top of Razoul's turban and he caved, "The brothel," he closed his eyes hating how weak his voice sounded.

Dark circled eyes shot open and the corners of the Regent's mouth screwed downwardly. The Razoul cleared his throat consciously speaking deeper as he cautiously looked to Jafar.

"Jasmine is in a brothel, two streets down from the square. I found her this afternoon, but needed to be sure—"

Jafar wiped the tiredness from his face as he walked towards his staff, and Razoul decided to change the subject before he dug himself a deeper hole.

"I can have a team of guards ready to retrieve her immediately. Just tell me how you wish me to proceed my Lord and I—."

But before he could finish, Jafar had darted out the door briskly, the abundant cape whooshing past. The guard stood looking after Jafar who broke the protocol of refinement to split into a full-on run. Razoul never knew Jafar was capable of such an exercise; it either meant something really good was going to happen, or that someone was about to die. For her sake, Jasmine better be a servant girl in a coffeehouse and nothing more…

Razoul waited a few minutes longer, allowing the space needed to clear his head. A palace horse was readied and Razoul mounted the mare slowly. He could have run after following Jafar on his heels. But that might be taken as a form of disobedience. Instead, he would meet them there merely for support and hopefully come back with both his head, and Jasmine's, intact.

* * *

He was blind with rage when the brothel entrance flung open. Jafar eyed the numerous salacious women and drunken men sprawled out on cushions; picking apart each of their faces, some of them looked towards Jafar with passing interest and others led men away to rooms like flies ensnared by a Venus flytrap. But none of the faces were of hers and his muscles became rigid and a static fuzz muffled the noisy brothel. That's when an all too familiar woman approached.

"Oh fuck—Look who is back!"

Jafar's staff knocked against the flooring as he turned to see Humairah—though he was sure she still made everyone call her 'Ummah.' Allah, how he despised that cow.

_Fuck you Jasmine for making me come back into the shit hole!_

"Mm—and he's all grown up now too and _powerful_—the only thing missing from your arm is the Sultana. Fortunately for the rest of us girls, she's long since been dead—."

*Whack*

Jafar back handed her mouth without warning. His patience was shrill. "Where is _she_."

Ummah held her jaw baring grey teeth. "Get the fuck out, I don't have to tell you any—shit! You son of a fucking whore, that hurts—."

Jafar rammed her against the nearest wall, the length of his staff pressed firmly into the folds of her neck so she could barely breathe; but the brothel kept on loud and oblivious.

His face closed in on her, "I will burn this infested rat hole to the ground with flames so hot, your eyes will ooze from their sockets and your cock sucking lips will turn inside out! Now tell me where Jasmine is!"

Ummah spat a throaty chuckle, "You and her are more a match than either of you realize…demented bastards."

The remark caught Jafar off guard when suddenly a whistle came from above.

"You!" Tahira waved from the top railing down to Jafar, "Yeah you, follow me now!" The man just stood there looking up dumbly and Tahira became riled, "Hurry up, Jasmine's in trouble!"

With sudden realization, Jafar propelled himself away from the sloshed woman looking towards the half-naked girl, taking massive strides to meet her at the top of the winding staircase.

With a sense of urgency Tahira gathered the dress from her ankles racing down the narrow hallway towards the furthest room, looking behind her repeatedly to make sure the tall dark man was keeping up. With a shaky hand Tahira guided the man, "In there, Dracul may have hurt her. Please, you have to stop this."

Jafar shook the handle finding it locked, then stepped back, and kicked with powerful force, splitting the door wide open. A being made up of revulsion and malice sucked at his chest, briefly debilitating his movements.

When Jafar had been torn from the gratification of ripping out Aladdin's neck, it felt as if someone mutilated his manhood. Emanating with uncontrollable power had been the first time Jafar's beast was let out of its cage and being denied the urchins blood had left a hole of bitter resentment. After a while though, Jafar got over his loss, finding pleasure in attaining substantial political power and dominance. But the raging emotions felt the night he took over Agrabah was child's play compared to this moment. For Aladdin merely _threatened_ what Jafar wanted. This time, a rat had actually gone and _taken_ what belonged to him.

Jasmine…_His_ Jasmine was exposed, sprawled out, being pumped by some wormy cocksucker. The look on her face was unreadable, blushed with heat making Jasmine appear older. There was a massive gash decorating her cheekbone, Jasmines eyes glossy and faded as she looked to him. He barely breathed. He could barely think. All Jafar could focus on was her naked breasts being devoured. Glossy saliva coated the peak of her tit as the worm released his suction with a dull pop; looking up aggravated by the interruption.

"Who the fucking hell?"

Jafar remained calm but his eye twitched, his mind giving in to darkness.

"Jafar…" his name came as a whisper of breath from her parted lips, Jasmine remaining captivated by the well-dressed man in the doorway.

Dracul looked to Jasmine removing his gnarly fingers from her taint as he grabbed at her waist possessively with both hands. "You know him? Get out. Get the **fuck** out!"

Still Jasmine ignored the rest of the world. The way she peered up at him, like he was some saint rescuing her, made his stomach twist in angst. He was _not_ her goddamned prince. He was here for an entirely other purpose. In a split second Jafar's staff fell with a clash and he was under Jasmines arms, prying her from Dracul's lap. Dracul tried to keep a grip on Jasmine clawing down the length of her thighs as Jafar drug her away and Jasmine yelped from the pain. Her rescuer tossed her behind him and Jasmine's head spun as she fought to keep herself standing under the dizzying weight from having too much to drink. Dracul jumped to his feet causing the room to quiver and she covered her bare chest, suddenly aware how indecent she had been in front of Jafar.

"That whore, is mine. I paid for my time and I still have plenty left!"

"Not with her, you don't. And I can assure the amount of breaths you have left are running out of time as well."

Making a powerful cracking sound Dracul popped his knuckles. From them, waves of Jasmine's musky scent clung to Jafar's nostrils, concluding without a doubt someone else had taken what was his—Never before had he wanted so desperately to gut another human being.

"You are in _my_ house. I'm the one to make the threats."

Jasmine ignored the instinct to cower. Instead, she squared muscular shoulders stepping out to challenge Dracul but was snatched back behind Jafar, gasping in irritation at how he continued to guard her. When Dracul thundered, however, Jasmine admitted it felt safer behind Jafar's wide shoulders.

"Give her back **now** and I'll make sure your death is quick."

"Come get her—and I guarantee yours will be agonizingly slow."

Dracul pulled the infamous sword while Jafar summoned the staff with an open-faced palm; the bald-headed brute wearying slightly, "A _real_ man will fight a fair fight."

Jasmine's breath hitched. _No magic?_ Dracul was twice Jafar's size in stature, probably weighing in around 300 pounds, and though Jafar was strong, there was no way he was equipped to take down a wooly mammoth.

Cobra eyes dimmed evading magical qualities. "Agreed."

Before she could thrust herself between the men and stop the madness, Dracul lunged forward, slashing the blade towards Jafar's abdomen. Jafar dodged, shoving Jasmine back and out of the way. Then a second and a third, Dracul slashing the air like he was sawing blades of grass as Jafar allowed his opponent to tire with every hit and miss. When Dracul attempted another rage induced aim, Jafar putted his opponents knee cap with a powerful swing; Dracul's leg bursting with a pop which crippled the oaf and brought him to his knees.

A small crowd of women had gathered outside Jasmine's door, all watching intensely, no one speaking out against the brawl. Within a manner of seconds Jafar had mounted Dracul and bashed in the man's face. Taking heaving ragged breaths Jafar grunted as he unleashed merciless blows with white knuckled fists. Some of the women screamed and Jasmine covered her mouth, seeing just how psychotic Jafar could become. This was personal. She could see it in the way every drop of his strength poured into breaking the bones of Dracul's head, refusing to stop until there was nothing more than a gruesome deformed mess. The brutality of the injuries alone could have rendered Dracul dead, but Jafar took no chances; taking up the fallen blade, Jafar stepped around the lifeless body, knelt down and tore into the pale flesh with a drawn out smooth motion. Blood squirted from the jugular across the room, splashing out on Jasmine's gown before gushing in a puddle beneath Dracul's body.

Bloodied and deranged Jafar snapped his neck upwards.

Her belly flipped. _Fuck_.

Guess who was next?

Jasmine took off propelling herself through the crowded hallway of frantic drunk women. Despite her efforts to sprint at godlike speed down the stairs, rapid footsteps closed in. Her heart punched the drums of her ears, adrenaline electrifying as Jafar stayed right on her tail. Jasmine made it as far as the steps of the brothel, her arm clinging to the column as she hurled her body around the corner, the flat of her feet sliding across splintered wood. Someone from the brothel called out for her while screams echoed from upstairs as Ummah discovered the bloody scene; Jasmine refused to stop.

Turning down the alley the wind was knocked from her gut as Jafar's weight pummeled her, their bodies smashing against brick walling. Her fists flung wildly, beating at whatever was within reach; chest, arms, the side of his face, her knuckles cracking against teeth. Fingernails caught with the grain of his chin and she kicked at him, throwing her body in every direction making it impossible for him to keep a steady grip on her.

If anyone were watching they would think her possessed. Let them think that. Let them see whatever they want. Dying without a fight was not within her and fight she did; snapping her jaw like a tiger, half believing she would rip out his throat if she found an in. But Jafar took hold of her wrists, squeezing them painfully as he forced her arms high above her head, pinning them there so every struggle she made wreaked havoc on her arm sockets. His beard scratched at her forehead as his form meshed with Jasmine's, pinning her beneath the weight of his pelvis. He kicked out her legs so she stood awkwardly apart, unable to cause any real damage.

His breath was warm and tangy excreting in deep breaths that encompassed her.

"Get off of me, get off you conniving bastard. I hate you, I **fucking hate you**!" Jasmine belted, spit stretching from her teeth as tears cascaded, her nose turning runny. Continuing to struggle caused Jasmine's shoulders to burn and Jafar pulled on the length of her arms as punishment making her whimper.

"That's enough Jasmine!" he growled deeply with eyes as dark as an abyss and Jasmine's chest constricted, "It's over. _Done_." Her heart literally hurt as if it was shutting down, the heartless words so matter of fact when he spoke. Done. For him a simple process—for her a catastrophic horror. To him it was an open and shut deal—he finally caught her and would kill her. But she didn't accept that ending, couldn't. She still had too much spirit left to die quietly. Jasmine cleared her throat then spit its remnants on Jafar's worn face. He jerked at the impact then growled turning to face the foul tigress pinned beneath him.

With the wings of his shoulder, Jafar wiped the spit from his cheek, the look in his eyes making Jasmine's body tremor. She knew he wanted to kill her, had seen that look in his eyes often enough to know _exactly_ what he was thinking. He would win but she'd be damned to not get a few swings of her own in. Her hips bucked wildly knocking off his balance allowing her knee to jut towards the meat of his thigh, barely missing his soft spot. With strength, she wouldn't possess if it wasn't for adrenaline, Jasmine brought her elbows down on Jafar's shoulder breaking his hold. A fleeting chance of freedom had been earned allowing Jasmine to turn. Sadly, her petite frame became immobilized once more, Jafar's strong stature slamming her chest and face into the wall—into helpless submission. She struggled for a moment against him, letting out a grunt as Jafar nailed her wrists to the sides of her head with a death grip, pinning himself hard against her backside. Her neck was left exposed, dotting with beads of perspiration, heating all the more as Jafar breathed heavily down her spine.

That gave her an idea.

"Is this how you want to take me Jafar?" A brilliant idea for _drunk_ Jasmine, less brilliant in reality. Still she embraced it knowing she was a dead woman either way. "I bet you've imagined fucking me. Just…like…this." She arched her back, digging the curve of her ass against his cock and he froze like a statue.

Her hips rocked into him, bringing her buttocks up until the slightest peak of her taint brushed against him, then back down again repeating the process a second time. Her breath hitched at how quickly he hardened and she dug deeper, circling her hips.

"I'm supposed to go to the highest bidder," Jasmine smiled into the brick, watching Jafar's cold stare from the corner of her eye, "but since he took half of me, I'll give you a fair price—_if_ you ask nicely."

Jasmine yelped, her head yanked back and Jafar's gut twisted at her sudden cold laugh; he tried to force the hideous sound to stop, winding the root of her scalp tighter, but it didn't work. Instead Princess Jasmine laughed harder in a strenuous giggling tone.

_Is she **drunk**!?_

He snarled in her ear, pressing her deeper against the rough bricks and ripped her head back far enough so to look down on her youthful face. But the cold heartless laughing persisted the same, sounding nothing like the girl he knew.

"You… killed… him," Came further snickering as Jasmine ignored the stinging at the back of her head.

He shook his fist, jolting her head to intensify the threat, "Would you like to **_join_** him?"

The laughter slowed, turning choppy and nervous as if sanity resumed.

Though he was within range Jasmine refused to look up at him and spoke absently to the bricks. "I doubt I have a say in the matter…so get it over with."

He closed his eyes inhaling the intoxicating scent of her skin. He wanted to do many things to her, and killing her _was_ one of them. He imagined breaking her neck here in the ally, and walking away forever so the roaches would devour her corpse. She had left him and her responsibilities to come here and be a fucking whore…Jasmine deserved to die.

Feeling his grip falter, Jasmine slowly straightened her head lifting from the padded clothing of his chest, then twisted at the waist to peer up at the man she loathed. Their faces so close they shared the air. She hated him. Hated everything. Everyone. Dracul and Ummah for giving her no other choice but to be a prostitute. Aladdin for making her feel like she wasn't worthy of his love or didn't fit in his world. But out of all the people she wanted to blame there stood only one person responsible for her turmoil. Herself. Why in the hell had she agreed to Ummah's ridiculous deal? Wasn't she supposed to be above all this entrapment bullshit? Instead of following her heart, staying true to who she was, Jasmine had allowed herself to cripple under stress. To be blinded by fear.

Jasmine exhaled and inhaled at rapid pace, feeling herself hyperventilate as she shook in Jafar's clutches. With hesitation Jafar allowed her to turn and face him, shocked when Jasmine jumped on the tips of her toes to fling her arms around him. Her mouth rested in the crook of his neck, breathing in the red linen draping of his turban as she clung to his stiff body. Maybe it was the booze or the psychosis of a breakdown. For whatever reason, she allowed herself a fleeting moment to look to Jafar for comfort in the midst of her unraveling world. But as he remained frozen against her, Jasmine cringed at what she'd done, shoving him away to create a distance that wasn't nearly far enough.

He had nearly allowed himself to hold her, to indulge in the sensual feel of her young body. But the terrible vision, of Dracul fingering Jasmine, flashed in the back of his eyes, pinning his arms down in rebuttal. He had smelled her on that wormy fucker. Jasmine had been wet for another man, not for him, and all he seen when looking at her was a dirty useless child. His heart raced faster, fighting to remain in control. How many men had taken her inside of that room? She said only half of her had been taken but what the hell did that mean? How many other men had shoved their grimy hands on her skin or thumbed the swell of her cunt, taking _only_ _half_ of her? Ten? A hundred? The thought was sickening. All the nights he'd lost sleep, going insane trying to find her and the little bitch was less than a mile away being a fucking—

"I didn't want it," Jasmine said dryly hating how deathly silent and tense it became and Jafar was ripped from a black hole.

"This…Or him—." She gestured to the brothel accusing a dead man of taking advantage of her. Her eyes closed briefly. _For shame. Allowing yourself to blame a dead man for your actions. No matter how awful Dracul was, he was still a life, and Jafar took it in the most horrific manner possible; because of you._

There was a trace he was listening but with a lick of his lips the calculated deaf stare resumed. Why did he always do that to her? to everyone? How could he pretend to feel nothing twenty-four seven? Did he know how shaken up she was? Or how her insides burned? Blood was smeared on his hands and all over her see-through gown. Still he didn't shake, didn't tremble, or act guilty in any form. He was solid. Stiff and cold. Jafar felt nothing: portraying only the eeriness of the calm before a storm.

Jasmine shook her head holding her stomach with an arm and her pained chest with a trembling hand. Continued silence compelled her to explain further.

"It …It hurt...He was rough and I hated it."

His tone was so cold it stung, "Hmph. Was that before or after your cunt squirted juices all over _Its_ hand?" He worked his jaw eyeing her, "Appeared to me I interrupted something you rather enjoyed."

"What the hell would you know? It's not like I _wanted_ this, Jafar!"

"You didn't want this? Then why the **fuck** were you in a whore house, little girl?"

Jasmine's mouth gaped, "I did what I had to, to survive, no thanks to you! Aladdin and I—."

"Aladdin!?" He snarled, the muscles in his throat contracting as he yelled, "I should have guessed. Where is the street rat!"

"It wasn't his fault, stop blaming him for everything!"

Jafar spun around and hissed against her determined face, "I don't blame the rodent, I blame the filthy little **_whore_**!"

They held in a stare off, noses pressed together, their eyes locked refusing to back down.

"It wasn't _his_ fault I was forced to leave the palace."

He scoffed, straightening so he towered her all the more, "So…_he_ didn't want you either?"

She pulled in her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. That's not at all what she said. But he had read her like an open book.

"_That's_ why you've become a disgusting—_disease_ ridden,"

"Stop it—."

"_Filthy—useless_ skank!"

"_Stop_-" Jasmine screamed closing her ears as Jafar trudged, pacing in front of her.

"After I refused your nasty little cunt, you ran off, looking for someone to love you. And when you didn't find it in Aladdin either, you came here." Jafar looked crazed and she readied herself for a bloody death similar to Dracul's. "To fill your wormy little hole with disgusting maggot cocks!" His last sentence was filled with spite as he screeched.

"**_Shut up_**!" Hollering, Jasmine bent down to pick up a handful of rocks and hurled them at Jafar with terrible aim. His fist rose above her, daring Jasmine to finish throwing her next fistful when Razoul appeared at the head of the alley.

"Your Majesty stop! _Please_… a crowd is sure to form. I beg you… both of you. Allow me to take it from here," Jasmine looked over to where Razoul knelt on one knee, pleading for her safety. He should be pleading for _Jafar's_ safety. "Please your Grace...have mercy."

Without a word, Jafar concealed lunacy with composure, smoothing the creases in each sleeve as if he were brushing himself clean of her touch; then strode away, leaving behind a very shaken woman. She had picked up right where she left off—a victim, weak and imprisoned. A ripple of rocks pummeled into dirt as Jasmine stared into nothingness. Then, with every ounce of her being, she **screamed**. An earsplitting cry filled with pain worth a thousand and one nights and Jasmine fell on wobbly knees depleted.

Jafar continued past the staring commoners and the women cowering inside the brothel with his head held high. Anyone that dared speak a word to him he would incinerate without hesitation. Even as Jasmine's curdled cry broke the sound barrier, Jafar refused to look back on her. She was Razoul's problem now, for if he were to spend one more instant in that girl's presence he would bash her head with his staff.

Speaking of which.

Jafar held out his hand and the gilded staff flew from the window—out of the room where Jasmine had been reduced to little value—down into his palm. Razoul mounted Jasmine on the horse, leading it by the reigns as he followed after the Sultan Regent. The billowing cape followed after the dark mysterious man, cane thudding in the dirt as he strode calmly towards the palace. No one knew the extent of chaos spiraling inside the viperous mind of a man so well composed; which was the way Jafar liked it.

Jasmine deserved to die, yet for the millionth time received underserved grace. He couldn't look at her, not after the image of her being wet half-naked had been burned into his brain. He hated the girl now more than ever. If he had his way, he would be rid of her already. But the mask of normalcy won out, keeping his head high and eyes forward, ignoring the itching desire to smite Jasmine into oblivion.

* * *

Jasmine didn't allow anyone to do anything for her, and probably never would again. The only courtesy she accepted was Razoul helping her walk the stairs; she was woozy and sore and found the daunting task of a million steps impractical. But tonight, when she'd taken a bath and discarded the sharmuta uniform, the Princess had refused her maids help, telling them to go to bed because she was more than capable of helping herself. Even when one of the women offered to bandage up her cut cheek, Jasmine insisted she could clean up her own wounds. Which shocked all the servants, though they kept their heads bowed and thoughts to themselves. (Quit a difference from the outspoken women of the brothel.)

Jafar had disappeared somewhere in the palace, and she was thankful not to see him the last hour. Jasmine dressed in her silk nightgown of violet with gold trimmings and was pained with guilt thinking of the girls. Of Tahira. She didn't even get a chance to say goodbye or apologize for actions beyond her control. Maybe there was some way she could see them all again and make things right; but the idea would have to wait until tomorrow when she'd had a decent night's rest and alcohol had passed entirely from her system.

Tonight, felt like an eternity and it was only two in the morning. The events she'd endured and constant lack of sleep caught up to her and she barely had the energy it took to walk from the bath to her bedroom. Jasmine strolled idly, callused fingers twisting at the damp hair forming it into a thick massive braid; another skill that the girls in the brothel had taught her. As she turned down the last passage something unusual pulled her from thoughts. Baba's room had a glow that spilled into the dark corridor.

That was strange.

She secured the ends with a studded clamp, tossing the braid over her shoulder as she walked in to the room. Expecting to find it empty, Jasmine fell back on her heels, stumbling into the door with brute force as the sight crippled her ability to stand. Her heart dropped as if it had been ripped from its cavity, leaving her with an overwhelming painful sensation. All this drama was too much to handle for one evening.

Baba was back in his bed. Sleeping away peacefully as he snored. He looked older and thinner, but was very much alive and well—finally in his own chambers where she had wanted him to be from the start.

Razoul appeared from the hallway having heard the slamming of the door when she fell.

"He's getting the help needed now…"

The sudden voice startled her but she kept eyes on the sleeping man.

"Jafar returned him shortly after you left. Don't worry Jasmine, whatever illness is ailing your father, he has the best royal doctors looking into it, making him as comfortable as possible."

She couldn't speak_. Jafar had done it?_ What the hell kind of game was he playing at? Recusing her from the brothel and then returning her father. Did he think he was prince charming? That he could redeem himself for all the terrible things he did and continued to do? She hated him. No amount of good deeds would ever be powerful enough to erase that.

Cutting off the remainder of Razoul's conversation, Jasmine pushed herself from the door to set out looking for Jafar. He had some serious explaining to do, no matter what time it was or how drained she felt. She was going to finish the argument they started in the streets. She pounded on the door not waiting for him to answer as she stormed into the crimson room. Jafar stood over his desk glancing at paperwork with a glass of red wine in hand, when her abrupt entrance demanded his attention.

He was dressed casually again, bare skin revealed in the onyx silk. But she refused to allow it to distract her this time. Strutting around to the side of his desk, Jasmine fought to gather her thoughts for an intelligible argument, wanting to knock out his teeth at the same time.

The wine glass was set aside and Jafar glowered, "I spared your life once tonight, do **_not_** test—."

Both fists clenched twisting in the onyx shirt, ardently yanking Jafar into her as she claimed his mouth with fervent desire. His eyes shot open body frozen in time as he watched the beautiful face pressed deeply against him. Long thick lashes rested on sweet cinnamon cheeks as Jasmine lost herself in the moment, uncaring if he shoved her away or hit her. Frankly he could do whatever he wanted, she refused to shy away from what felt natural. She had wanted to scream, curse and throw things but the second she was close enough to do anything to him, this is what unfolded.

Just when she was ready to break away, Jafar came to life, clawing at the fabric of her gown cupping the small of her back as he deepened the kiss. Jasmine brought her hands around his neck pulling him down on her mouth and she moaned, their kiss hard with greed, leaving them breathlessly consumed. She took in the musky scent that made up Jafar; the warmth of Arabian heat and spices. His hand slid under Jasmine's woven braid meeting the back of her head, his thumb rubbing intently at the spot he earlier made sore and Jasmine let out a small whimper.

They broke the kiss with bated breath and Jasmine felt exposed under Jafar's darkness. He made her feel vulnerable and naked, like she could keep nothing secret from him and could never hide from him. And as scary as it was, Jasmine loved it, possessing his mouth once more as she gripped the firm lines of his jaw; indulging in the substantial pleasure of being with someone so despicable.

Jasmine moaned a sultry groan as Jafar pried her mouth open with his slick tongue, giving just a little, making her crave more of him as her soft lips parted in reciprocation, their tongues clashing together and Jasmine pulled at the back of Jafar's teeth, his head following in submission to her beckoning tongue.

He tasted so goddamn good, like crisp wine and spiced cinnamon. How someone so manipulative and cold could feel so phenomenal and warm against her was a mystery. Her fingers fell from his face down to the swell of his chest and smoothed over the silky black hairs, their softness nuzzling her fingertips making her weak in the knees. Jafar explored her mouth, groaning with want, using the curve of his tongue to taste the ridges of her palate; he could think of several other places he would love to taste her. A gasp of warm sweet breath came as Jafar shoved his snakelike tongue down her throat causing her to gag and her eyes to flutter.

But she didn't fight him giving him complete control as he tipped her head back firmly, devouring her senses. Spit coated their mouths, fluids intertwining frantically and Jafar bit her lip, gripping it deep under his teeth and she moaned louder than necessary, wanting him to know exactly how much she loved this. The powerful man exerted further control smoothing large hands down over Jasmine's rounded ass.

"Aagh," Jasmine gave a high-pitched whine as the swell of her cheeks were brutally squeezed in both of Jafar's hands and she bit her lip.

Mm—he wanted her to make that noise again. Spreading her ass apart his breath hitched at the pleasured look on Jasmine's face, knowing her folds were parting too, leaving her clit vulnerable, and he ground deep and hard into her. Her warm slit dripped in anticipation as it seeped through her nightie, leaving a slick warmth on his pants. Jasmine moaned again, this time louder and she clutched at Jafar's strong shoulder's, their breaths shallow and quick and her face flushed at the tight pressure building. But she needed more friction, craved to have him deep inside her. As if reading her mind, Jafar slid a hand down over her thick thigh, hiking it up over his waist so her foot rested on the top of the desk, and she rewarded him with elicit moans of pleasure; their foreheads pressed together the smooth silk covered organ thrusted up and down Jasmine's glistening slit.

He lost himself in her mouth, their eyes closed in ecstasy. Fuck, how he wanted her, his mouth watering at the thought of tasting her juices, and he could feel her coming undone. They despised one another with twisted revolting hatred, yet they were entangled in a mess of saliva and limbs, needing only each other like their lives depended on it. He still wanted to hurt her, make her scream in agony but she tasted like heaven and he couldn't deny her any longer. Not this time. Not ever again. He wanted to claim all of who she was and make her forget about any man that wasn't him.

Jasmine thought she might lose her mind, her body trembling at the hot throbbing sensation at her center as she whimpered into his mouth, pleading for him to stop without actually saying the words. She didn't understand how someone so cold and heartless could arise such passionate fire deep in her soul, but she needed it to stop before the blaze consumed her.

The flat of her palms landed hard against his unguarded chest, shoving him away as if he she'd been burned; her sex tingling with disappointment. Though he looked like a god Jasmine reminded herself who she was dealing with and why she had come here in the first place and wiped hard at her mouth with the back of a hand, ridding herself of his taste. Jafar's eyes darkened narrowing—his smoldering look making her want to jump on him all over again.

Her brown eyes blinked away the lustful haze, "Was that payment good enough for you?"

Jafar blinked, watching her with sudden reticence. "I've had better…Though I suppose I shouldn't expect much from a sloppy little virgin."

She scoffed hiding how his words stung. Why did they sting? What should she care what he thought of her? Jasmine boldly stepped up to his face, "Another charming sentiment from a narcissistic, motherless, _bastard_."

After one step, Jafar gripped her by the arm, looking down on the top of her perfumed hair. But he remained silent as Jasmine tilted her head, the amber glow of fire drawing attention to her busted cheek. There was something unreadable in his eyes and Jasmine felt almost sorry for him. Why did she say those hateful things to him? Just because he didn't have a heart didn't mean she had to rip out her own and get on his level.

"I should have left you there to rot," Jafar hissed, his breath on her face.

_You're not helping your case, sir._

The old her would have come up with some snide remark or another way to cut him down, and turn this thing into needless hateful bantering. As easy as that would be, Jasmine reminded herself she was a new woman. Not a little girl anymore.

"Yes, perhaps you should have. So, why didn't you?" She looked him over, watching as he opened then closed his mouth, meeting back up to his conflicted eyes. She didn't have to like him, but she would strive to be the bigger person and let the argument slide. "I - just wanted to thank you…"

He scrunched his face as if trying to decipher some coded language being spoken.

"For returning Baba to me…You didn't have to. And you didn't have to come save me, either."

"I didn't save you. I simply took back what was _mine_. As for the sniveling twat, I merely needed to be rid of his pungent stench." His threat was evident—but Jasmine took his temper with a grain of salt.

He was capable of callous wickedness, but he _did_ save her and returned a sick old man to his bed. That should be victory enough for tonight, and all she wanted now was to go to sleep in peace.

"Thank you all the same…I will see you at our wedding." Her tone was dry and with ease Jasmine unclasped his fingers from her arm never breaking away from his mysterious eyes. "Good night... Jafar."

As suddenly as she entered Jasmine vanished, the long braid swaying at her waist as she walked, leaving Jafar to wallow in a state of inescapable odium.


	11. Chapter 11: Until Death

"Allah, are you serious?" She whispered to the sky before hollering at the door, "I said I need a minute!"

Jasmine had been hiding inside her room. She would like to think it was an act of rebellion; proving her stubbornness as a liberated woman. But nothing was farther from the truth. The poor girl could hardly catch her breath and stood leaning on the smooth vanity, gripping its sides as she rocked forward on the bunion of her feet, pressing against the granite for support. Her voice resumed in a whisper, this time speaking to herself and not Allah – of whom she was pretty sure had stopped listening long ago.

"Breathe, Jas," a deep inhale through the nose and exhale of the mouth, "Just breathe."

Jasmine met herself in the mirror looking up, searching wide eyes as if somewhere within the reflection laid the answer to all her problems. But the brown gaze made her feel all the emptier as she saw into her soul - discovering that _nowhere_ inside herself was a comforting answer. Perhaps if her mother were here, she would have something special to say on her daughter's wedding day. A bit of motherly advice. Jasmine shook away the thought of the Sultana, deciding she would have to go at this pep talk alone.

"Just…go out there, and – _do it_." Jasmine pulled a face at the less than inspirational words, rubbing away sore muscles of her eyebrows. She really needed to ease up on the scowling face, or she might permanently look pissed off.

_Perhaps that's how it happened to Jafar, _Jasmine mused.

Taking a step away to turn and face a full-length mirror, the bride looked solemnly at her figure, shifting, so her shoulder blades came into view. Earlier, dusted gold had been sprinkled on her bare skin, and Jasmine admired the way it glistened from front to back as she did a twirl under the rays of morning sun. But a girl could never have too many accessories, and the necklace that adorned Jasmine's neck also caught the rays of light, a shimmering prism bouncing off the diamonds. She took a finger, tracing the matching earrings that dangled and admired the craftsmanship of all she wore.

Next was a makeup check. Jasmine rubbed her lips together, enjoying the smooth silk of crimson lipstick as she did, then puckered a kiss to her reflection and smiled, making sure, for the dozenth time, that none of it stained her white teeth. Usually she found her eye color boring, but today, admired the way it popped underneath thick lashes and smoked, charcoal lids. Some strands of hair had been curled and allowed to dangle loosely around her face. While the rest of her thick locks had been pulled back into a mass of bouncy strands; woven with thin pieces of ribbon that danced along in perfect contrast. A headpiece, of interlaced chains, topped off the ensemble, forming gently with the curve of her head. And dangling from the ornament, was a red ruby, which rested at her forehead's center and above sculpted brows.

The bridal dress was white, naturally, and the lower half of it designed to cascade out and around like a waterfall. Another red ruby was nuzzled between the center of her breast, studded white diamonds leading from the middle and out along the brim of the gown. It was her mother's when she had married Baba and Jasmine wished more than anything to have seen her in it. No doubt Sultana had done it better justice than she ever could. After all, it wasn't made for Jasmine's body, which was curvier and shorter.

Her breasts were bubbling and the firm midsection hugged in tightly around her waist. While the more forgiving fabric spilled out into a wide circumference that covered an inch past her feet. Even if it was a little tight and sort of long, Jasmine felt blessed to wear such a gorgeous bridal gown. Besides, it was the only thing left to prove her mother ever existed, and she embraced herself in a hug. _I love you and wish you could be here._ Then, after pulling at the sleeves wishing they fell down more, Jasmine chose to stop over analyzing the way she looked. It didn't matter much anyway. It wasn't like the groom would get cold feet and cancel.

Jasmine chuckled softly, imagining Jafar afraid of her as she strolled down the aisle: screaming, handing back the kingdom as he fled, terrified of commitment.

Going over to her bed to pick up the veil, Jasmine paused, looking down at the blue and white blankets. These same colors had been in her room for as long as she could remember, telling Baba, when she was only five, that she wanted to sleep in a sky of clouds. Jafar of course had told her that was impossible, but Baba never put a damper on her imagination and had her room decorated with gold, white, and blue. Last night, however, was the last time she'd ever sleep here again. From now on she would lay in a viper's den and be surrounded by red, and black. Taking her from the heavens down into hell.

The jewel on her face dangled back and forth as she shook away self-pitying thoughts and walked over to the mirror once more. Her veil was a glimmering gold chiffon and matched the shine of her dusted bare skin. Jasmine placed it carefully on her head while looking in the vanity a final time. She was noticeably attractive, but never thought much else on the matter and today was no different. Jasmine had hoped that seeing herself in this immaculate getup, she would feel different: wiser or more powerful. But the woman underneath remained the same person she'd seen every day the past sixteen years: a little girl. A child, never in control of her destiny, despite how much she fought to be.

She didn't want to marry Jafar. Knew he didn't want to marry her either. Maybe _that_ was why her nerves were so rattled – diving head on into a lifelong commitment no one wanted to happen. Or perhaps it was the affirmation that life as she knew it, the life she still hoped possible, was officially gone.

Another rap came at the door, and Jasmine picked up the heavy gown to strut towards the obnoxious sound. Jasmine swung it open, ready to yell at someone for rushing her, to find a young servant girl waiting in the hallway.

"Oh –." _Damnit Jasmine. _She rolled her eyes at herself for frightening the maiden, "Forgive me, I apologize."

"No, your Highness," the girl dropped to her knees looking to the floor, "It is I who must apologize for bothering you."

Jasmine let out a huff of air stooping to take the girl's hands in her own as she guided her to stand.

"No. _I_ am sorry for snapping at you. You were purely doing your job." Jasmine's smile was full of sweetness and the girl blinked unsure how to respond. "Now. I have made it my priority to learn the names of every servant of the palace since my return, but I'm afraid I've yet to learn yours."

The girl stuttered, "M – Mia… my Queen. " Mia bowed her forehead to Jasmine's hands. This girl couldn't be too much younger than herself.

"Mia…Such a beautiful name. It's so wonderful to meet you," she let go of Mia's hands still keeping a sincere smile.

"Is her majesty ready for the betrothal? I was sent to fetch you."

Jasmine sighed pulling the brim of her dress up higher, trying to better hide the swell of her breasts. "Yes, Mia. I believe I'm as ready as I'll ever be. Although another million years would be a more accurate timeframe."

Mia's eyes shot open, blushing a warm pink at the Princess's unexpected joke and bit her knuckle trying not to laugh. Jasmine gave her a wink and walked with her hands folded in front of her. Head held high the Princess glided down a majestic staircase, feeling dizzy as the closed doors of the ballroom came into sight. Several guards stood in attentive posture, lining the path Jasmine was to take as she waited to be ushered inside the ceremony.

This was it. The point of no return. Gorgeous music echoed loudly from inside the closed off room, reverberating in muffled tones and Jasmine squared her shoulders, waiting for the que to enter. Swirls of carved marble dipped and turned in engraved lines; the door's pattern reflecting the way her stomach felt.

A bowed spike-fiddle, a goblet drum, an end-blown flute, and tar players. Jasmine tried to identify every instrument closing her eyes as she focused on anything that wasn't her queasy stomach. She loved music, though rarely ever heard any, and was surprised at how much the current melody calmed her soul.

Jasmine huffed shakily, pressing the palm of her hands against the flat of her stomach. Her name was announced by the officiant and the turquoise doors were pulled open, bringing with them the wave of elegant sound and the smell of sweet rosewater, wafting in the air. Jasmine felt like she might faint and found herself immobile, when a gentle voice appeared beside her. Razoul smiled as he whispered for her to take a deep breath and relax.

The Princess couldn't pretend that his words helped her any. Panic evident as she gawked at the ever-lengthening aisle. Razoul noticed and tried to make light of the situation as he stepped in front like a shield.

"You shouldn't be the one nervous your Majesty. I'm the one who has to go first."

He gave a gapped tooth grin showing the space from his missing tooth and Jasmine's mouth twitched, failing to reciprocate a smile. She was almost too wrapped up in anxiety to notice that Razoul wore a black formal thawb that covered down to his ankles and Jasmine thought he looked stunning in formal attire; giving her a theory that every guard should dress like this, instead of the open vests and wrist cuffs. But the idea quickly lost merit when hundreds of seated guests stood, turning to watch the end of the aisle, reminding Jasmine she was lightheaded.

The stunning bride took a final moment to gather herself and pulled the veil down over her face, and shortly followed in after her friend. Razoul carried burning incense called esfand. It was meant to ward off the evil eye of people who might look on Jasmine with malignant envy. Though she loved the concept, she gave a roll of her eyes at it. The only true threat was waiting at the front, and nothing could protect her from that level of evil.

Papa, she knew, would also be at the front and assisted by his servant. After being put in a warm bed, and receiving consistent doctor visits, Hamed's symptoms had lessened; allowing him the ability to sit up, and eat with help. Unfortunately, he still was mute and extremely unresponsive to his surroundings. Jasmine had always imagined Baba walking her down the aisle on the big day, but remained grateful for small mercies. Thankful to have him here at all.

Jasmine took simple strides moving in time of the melody. She wished Tahira were here, or Lilliana or Vada or Coconut and the other part of her longed-for Aladdin to be the groom at the end of the aisle. Her tears caught like a lump in her throat as she walked slower, looking down at the veiled floor, then shooting glances at the miraculous decorations of shimmering cloths and flowers and lit candles. It was like something out of a fairytale and had it not been for reality, Jasmine almost believed this could truly be an enchanted moment.

Jasmine nearly fell flat on her back when all at once a flood of a hundred emotions washed over her – and she didn't know if it was excitement of being the center of attention or pure devastation that she was committing herself to Jafar forever.

_Forever_. From the very beginning, that concept had been a part of their relationship. For instance: Jasmine knew Jafar's voice since being in her mother's womb and, after sixteen years of hearing it, could easily pick it out over a crowd of random people; he was a name and presence she could always depend to be a constant part of her life. There was even a time when, as a small child, Jasmine _loved_ the tall young man. Following him around the palace, pulling on his robes and getting into his alchemy potions, laughing at the enormous messes she could make. He had smiled down at her occasionally, though it looked painful for him to do so. But more often than not, Jafar had distanced himself from the little Princess, brushing her off or calling a servant to take get her out of his way.

Then, as they both grew older, she viewed Jafar as a creepy old man and hated going near him, afraid he might yell at her; or worse, make her study with him from one of those massive, boring books on the shelves. It wasn't until she had started to grow into a woman that Jasmine found pleasure in pushing the limit, seeing just how bad this grouchy Vizier _really_ was. Bearing life to a power struggle that, at least in the beginning, had been innocent in every way possible. But when she came of age and suitors knocked at the palace gates, something between Jafar and her changed, and he would look at her with a dark light that made her stomach clench and her thoughts turn fuzzy.

One of her last words to Jafar, before accepting him as a true threat, had been that she would be rid of him once she was Queen. Never in her life did Jasmine imagine that the day she took the throne, would be _because_ of her marriage to him, and therefore solidify that she would actually _never_ be rid of him.

But since their relationship had so many layers – the biggest of which being dysfunctional pain – Jasmine wondered if the man she was committing herself to, the man that was always a part of her family, had ever cared for her at all. Even if in the smallest way possible.

Razoul reached the end of the aisle and took his place next to Sultan Hamed – who was sitting upright with the help of a servant named Wadi. That's when her groom finally came into view.

Jafar stood at the side of a decorated table looking so … refined. Jafar wore an off-white thobe that had patterned gold running down the center of his chest to the end of the garment, which came to the top of his knees. His harem pants were a deep red and it matched the dark feather and jewel of his white turban. Jasmine took note of how his garments matched hers in color, and wondered if that was intentional. After all, she hadn't been present for _any_ of the wedding planning.

Ignoring the conundrum, she noticed how Jafar's neck was showing – precisely the way she loved it – his smooth dark skin meeting with the beautiful white collar, and wanted to leave little nibbles from his jawline down the muscle of his neck. His hands were clasped in front, his head held high and his stare – oh Allah. The way he was staring made her feel like she was the only woman in the world and she couldn't help but smile shyly under the privacy of the veil.

Two beautiful chairs sat behind the table with a green canopy held over them by a couple of women. Jasmine assumed they were servants, but couldn't decipher which ones; their hijabs revealing only their eyes. Reaching the end of the aisle, Jasmine was face to face with Jafar. He couldn't fully see her through the veil, but that didn't stop him from making her feel stripped naked and the muscles below her tummy to clench. She hated how he could pick her apart like that with one look. Jasmine quickly came around, sitting in unison with Jafar as she took her place at his right-hand side, underneath the canopy, and was overjoyed that the horrific walk down the aisle was over.

Looking over the contents of the table, Jasmine took in the beauty of the trinkets, feeling as if she might cry. There was specially baked flatbread, called nooné sangak, that had been ornately arranged in shapes of hearts and flowers. Intricate woven baskets were filled with brilliantly painted and decorated eggs; and a glass bowl was overflowing with an array of gold dipped nuts to symbolize fertility. Jasmine felt herself heat at the thought of Jafar impregnating her, and tried to push the image from her mind. Also on the setting were crystalized sugar bowls, gold coins, fruits and spices, and a book of poems that had been opened to a verse, of which was too far away for Jasmine to read. She would have to check later to see what her soon-to-be husband had picked. Probably something violent.

It was all very elegant and beautiful, each item holding precious connotation; which made it all the more strangely painful, knowing that _none_ of this meant anything to him. There was also a mirror and gold dipped candlesticks sitting closest to them. The mirror represented eternity while the candles represented brightness of the future and eternal passion. Since the looking glass was to be used as part of the ceremony – where the groom would look at her, through it, while unveiling his bride – it had been strategically placed in between them and Jasmine could see Jafar's reflection. She secretly watched him, and how he sneered, unimpressed as the officiant began speaking. Jasmine sighed. The poor old man hadn't _done_ anything, and Jafar was probably thinking up a hundred ways to torture him.

Jasmine continued to analyze her _almost_ husband. He always had deep set, large brown eyes, but in recent years' dark circles had formed, making him look older, not to mention more ominous, than most men his age. The way he twisted down his mouth in a scowl added to that effect and Jasmine wondered why he always looked pained. Like he held the weight of the world on his shoulders, and hated mankind because of it.

The officiant rambled on in the background, and Jasmine resumed her fixation, becoming entranced by the steady rise and fall of Jafar's powerful chest. Hell, even his breathing pattern was executed with precision and control. Just like everything else he did. Jasmine couldn't help but feel her muscles tingle at the apex of her thighs, becoming infatuated as she learned every detail of his face, and the way his thick brows accented his malicious features. Why did she have to be attracted to him? He was handsome, yes. But his heart was full of ugliness and Jasmine didn't think it possible to fall in love with someone who was so deformed on the inside.

First, the officiant declared Jafar the Sultan and Jasmine the Sultana of Agrabah, doing a quick coronation of sorts before moving on with the final wedding bit. Jasmine guessed Jafar had planned it to happen that way, eager to receive his official title before anything else. Then, finishing reading from the Qur'an, the officiant began the final process; for which Jasmine became fully alert.

"Do you, Jafar, Sultan of Agrabah, consent to this union with Jasmine, Sultana of Agrabah?"

Jafar's eyes darted towards the reflection in the mirror. Could he see her looking at him? _Crap, of course he could. _The bastard saw _everything_ she did. Jasmine's face reddened, feeling as if she'd been caught doing something wrong by watching him.

His response came dryly. "Yes. I consent."

_No, Please. Try and contain your excitement, its overwhelming._

All eyes turned to Jasmine now, and the Arabian guests began to murmur in excitement for the next part of the ceremony – where a little fun was allowed.

"And Jasmine, Sultana of Agrabah, do _you_ consent to this union?"

Jasmine had never been to a wedding before and otherwise knew little to nothing about an Aghd ceremony. But, the past four days, Jasmine was rehearsed on traditions and what was expected of her. And although she was uncomfortable receiving all this attention, Jasmine played along indulging in her cultures customs; and therefore, refused to answer the officiant's question.

Immediately someone from the audience shouted out a reason why she should _not_ be married. "Don't go through with it my Queen, the Sultan is too old for you!"

She held her breath, carefully watching Jafar from the corner of her veiled eyes, but couldn't tell if he was amused or agitated. Giggling murmurs broke out amongst the Arabian people, while visiting foreigners looked to each other in concern. However, once they figured out it was a game, they joined in the excitement of poking fun. The officiant asked her a second time, Jasmine stiffening her neck as she refused to answer yet again.

A woman, this time, stood to make fun. "A man like the Sultan is too powerful to appreciate you my Queen. Please, come away and marry my son instead!"

The audience hooted, a few clapping in enjoyment and Jasmine shook with girlish laughter, feeling sorry for the woman's young son, who turned red and put his head down, trying to hide.

She was asked one final time for consent, at which point everyone in the audience leaned on the edge of their seats. Jasmine swallowed, tilting as she weighed the eerie look of warning from Jafar. Dark eyes encompassed her yet again, and this time was certain he saw through her veil and into her soul.

Jasmine could shame him, call this a farce and declare that Jafar was not the Sultan of Agrabah and never would be. But that was pointless and in honesty, Jafar was already a great ruler. No matter her personal vendetta with the man, Jasmine practiced being the new woman she knew she was capable of and put aside childish instincts.

"With the permission of my father and spirit of my mother – Balé." Jafar seemed to relax a little and Jasmine closed her eyes briefly, the audience cheering while the people of Agrabah made the kelling cry, all clapping and rejoicing.

A knee pressed against her as Jafar turned in his seat, making him seem closer than before; although she supposed he had been right by her this entire time. Now, as his hands reached at the sides of her veil, Jasmine felt like she couldn't breathe, suffocated by his powerful presence. With a smooth swoop, Jafar raised her veil to see her reflection, the mirror serving as a buffer while symbolizing the couple's eternity together.

Jafar's heavy eyes held something new. Longing? Passion? _Love_? It was a ridiculous thought that made her feel as if she hadn't grown at all the past month. Though it seemed reasonable enough to want to believe he might reserve the faintest sliver of his blackened heart for her.

His hand came to rest on the side of her thigh and all of the earth's moisture seemed like it pooled together, gathering between her thighs. How embarrassing. They turned their focus from the reflections and to each other. Her eyes darted down to where his hand rested, feeling guilty that the simplest touch made her sex tingle with want. Especially since the eyes of a hundred people were watching them.

Before Jasmine could reach out, he removed his touch from her leg to grab a small jar from the table – and the corner of his mouth ticked, amused by the small pouting face she made in response. This was the final part of the ceremony, other than the kiss. Jafar dipped his little finger into the jar, coating the tip of his digit with thick creamy honey.

He could feel Jasmine's nervousness, her knee shaking next to him as her eyes darted from him then to the crowd and back again. He licked his lips leaving them slick with moisture and raised a brow at Jasmine that told her she needed to calm down. His bride gave a small nod and exhaled, seeming to comply with his silent demand. _Good girl._

Thick red lips parted slightly, just enough to allow Jafar's finger to dip inside, the honey bursting in her mouth as Jasmine ran the flat of her tongue along the pad of his pinky. The delicious sensation made him tingle, Jasmine pulling him to erection with every flick of her tongue as his pitted gaze turned hazy. His nostril's flared, inhaling sharply, as Jafar watched the little o shape around his finger as she sucked at him hungrily. The honey feeding represented giving his wife sweet sustenance, but, right now, all Jafar could envision filling her with was his cum.

Jafar began to slip his little finger from Jasmine's cherry lips, when she bit down gently, grazing the swell of sensitive skin and making his breath hitch; her eyes challenging, taunting him as if she knew his every thought. And he hated how she did that – the way Jasmine constantly tried to figure out his weaknesses. The slick pinky pulled at her bottom lip leaving a trail of honeyed moisture in its place but Jasmine didn't lick it away, intentionally leaving the sugary gloss for him. Yet, another deviant way to lure him in and expose his underbelly.

"I say these words to you, marrying brides and bridegrooms! Impress then upon your mind: May you two enjoy the life of good mind by following the laws of religion. Let each one of you clothe the other with righteousness. Then assuredly there will be a happy life for you"

The officiant read a final passage from the Qur'an and just before he finished proclaiming them man and wife, Jafar had grabbed at the back of Jasmine's head, pulling her in for a kiss he seemed unable to put off any longer.

"Oh – umm, yes. You may now kiss the bride." The elder gave a chuckle and the crowd cheered fuzzily in the background.

Jasmine turned her face into Jafar's and away from onlookers, whimpering slightly as her husband parted her mouth with his, their tastes mixing together of honey and sweet spices. Though she wanted more, to swallow him down, Jasmine broke the kiss, trying to remain as decent as possible in front of those watching, and sat upright in her seat.

The crowd remained in an uproar, while Jafar used the swell of his thumb to clean the red lipstick from his mouth. Those deep brown eyes watched Jasmine heatedly as he wiped enticingly at the smooth curve of his bottom lip. Jasmine pressed her legs together firmly feeling aroused while looking from his mouth to the form of his broad body and back up again; imagining all the places she wanted his mouth to be on her – and vice versa. She took a shaky breath, barely able to rip away from him – as if he were a vortex sucking her down into a bottomless pit – forcing herself to look towards her approaching guests instead; who now formed a line to come and congratulate Jasmine and Jafar one by one.

During this time, Jasmine was ushered, by the officiant, to move her seat further to the edge of the table while Jafar did the same in the opposite direction. She assumed it was to give the guests more room for personal greetings, but oddly longed to keep Jafar right beside her.

Only a few strangers had made it through the line when that Cruella character was up next. It was as painful as swallowing salt water when Jasmine had to force a smile.

"My, word. You _are_ quit the catch, aren't you?" Cruella's face was so thin, Jasmine thought the skin would tear as it stretched to accommodate her smile. "We've never been properly introduced, your Majesty. Cruella."

Jasmine took the boney gloved hand awkwardly, feeling no need to introduce herself. She knew damn well that Cruella knew her name. The fiendish woman had said it enough times when making salacious, sexual remarks about her at the dinner party. It went without saying that Jasmine was ready for Cruella to move on and bother Jafar, but instead of Cruella taking a hint, she fed Jasmine an earful; apparently, _that_ was her wedding gift. When the rambling didn't stop, Jasmine looked over to Jafar, trying to send a hint that he needed to get this woman away from her.

But Jafar wasn't paying attention to Jasmine, having become occupied with a guest – who had skipped speaking to her and gone straight to him. A young girl, no more than twenty-three, with fair skin and high cheekbones had captivated Jasmine's husband. Her hair was styled into a beautiful mass of curls and shone with yellow and gold silky strands. Clearly not an Arabian woman, as she also dressed differently, wearing white laced gloves and a blue billowy dress. Maybe a Londoner?

Cruella kept talking, oblivious that the girl had zoned out long ago and Jasmine wrinkled her forehead watching with trepidation as Jafar took the woman's hand in his and kissed the back of it. _Do they know each other? _The woman then proceeded to bend at the waist and kiss Jafar's cheek. The exchange was lasting a little too long for comfort.

_That's it. Hurry up and move on. Did you not just see him marry **me?** … oh, my god!_

Jasmine's mouth fell open as the woman kissed Jafar straight on the lips, his look calm with open lids as he stared deep into the stranger's blue eyes. It was all of five seconds, but to Jasmine an eternity, before the kiss broke off, their lips making a soft smooching sound. The woman affectionately planted a gloved hand to Jafar's cheek, then walked away with serenity, Jafar looking after her for a moment before turning to the next congratulator.

_What the hell was that fuckery about?!_

"Oh, darling," the husky tone of Cruella drawled, having witnessed the same thing. A sharp shoulder shrugged from under the fur coat noticing the distraught look on Jasmine's face, "Don't worry about it. I'm sure it's nothing. You know how men are."

Jasmine regained formality deciding it shouldn't matter what Jafar did or who he did it with.

"No, actually. I don't know how men are. And I certainly don't care to."

"Oh, I don't blame you darling. They're all filthy swine, no matter what corner of the world they squat in."

Jasmine blinked away her hurt. What did she care if Jafar had a past, or if that past happened to have golden hair and sky blue eyes? This wasn't a marriage. It was only a contractual agreement and it was foolish to believe otherwise.

"Well if they're swine and this world is their squalor, I think it's time for us women to rise up out of the muck and slaughter the filthy sons of bitches."

Cruella pursed her lips chewing on her cheek as she tapped an unlit cigar in the air, pointing with it as if Jasmine was onto something, "That's _exactly_ the kind of women we need in power. I know for sure I'm going to like you, Jasmine. Maybe over a glass of gin we can get to know each other better. You know. Woman to woman."

This wasn't exactly the type of motherly advice she had been hoping for when she said she needed woman talk. But Jasmine guessed it might be nice to have someone to vent to about Jafar, and this devilish, tiring woman, seemed as good an ally as any.

"Sure, Cruella. We will get drunk and discuss how to dominate the male species."

Cruella rolled a shoulder batting thin lashes at Jasmine before moving down to speak with Jafar. If she'd known it would be as easy as that to get rid of her, Jasmine would have brought up booze and gossip first thing. Maybe _then_ that stupid pale woman wouldn't have snuck in to make out with her husband.

The rest of the guests rolled by in a blur of faces. The next, Jasmine recognized, as Pierre, Elijah, and Tobias, who shook her hand with false smiles. They were the men who spoke ill of her and Baba, unaware, still, that Jasmine had been listening in on their cruel jokes that evening. It would be easy to act cold towards them. In fact, a month ago, she had envisioned smacking their heads together. But Jasmine had grown since then, and removed any trace of resentment. Giving a dazzling smile with a warm greeting, the men looked taken back, having expected her to be a bratty child, instead of a well-groomed polite young woman.

_Yup. Keep walking. Go tell Jafar whatever you want about me. None of you can change who I am._

Several others rolled through and Jasmine kept an eye out, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fair-haired lady. But when she still hadn't seen her, Jasmine decided to put it out of her mind entirely and move on. It didn't matter anymore.

When her cheeks were so sore from smiling that her face could fall off, Jafar reached out his hand, and led her around the table. They were finally ready to walk down the aisle, but Jasmine had one last person to greet, as she ran to the front row and pulled Baba in, kissing him tenderly on the cheek as she whispered how much she loved him.

"It's time my dear." Jafar touched at the small of her back in a false tone of sweetness.

Her eyes closed, breathing in her father's scent, giving him one final kiss goodbye. It felt as if she'd never see him again, even though she would later that day for the reception. Still, this would be the last time seeing him as his little girl – before Jafar was to take her to bed and make her a woman.

Hamed didn't respond past blinking, brown eyes barely looking to her as she stood. Jafar wrapped an arm at Jasmine's waist possessively, the Sultan and Sultana walking down the aisle as a married couple while being showered with flower petals and rice.

The hardest part was finally over. Or so she hoped.

* * *

The grand door swung open, and Jafar tossed her in by the arm stalking in after as he closed them inside the room. He devoured her from head to toe, picking at her flesh with a vulture like stare. Jasmine recoiled slightly, wondering if she'd done something to upset him, when his mouth was forced upon her, claiming her until it hurt and they were both panting. Jafar groaned, his chest vibrating under her hand and Jasmine moaned into his mouth, satisfied with his lust for her.

_This_ part of the ceremony she could definitely enjoy.

Jasmine gave a whimper, unintentionally, when he broke away to hold her at a distance. His black fiery eyes made her sex tingle in anticipation and she went to kiss him again, when he pulled back.

"If you were lying to me, you know what I'll do to you."

Jasmine's head tilted looking him over. "About?"

"Your virginity…"

Jasmine opened and closed her mouth, speechless that he was bringing this up. He was _still_ upset about the brothel ordeal? Seriously? Well, two could play the petty card.

"Hmm…your one to talk."

His face fell into a look that could have seized her heart: if she was crazy for murderous psychopaths. And she persisted, ignoring the little voice that said shut up.

"I saw you kissing that blonde woman downstairs. Maybe _I'm_ the one who should be asking _you_ questions. And warning _you_ not to lie to _me_."

She should've seen it coming. Her lip instantly began to bleed from Jafar's perfected backhand and she licked the metallic fluid from her mouth, now intent to not back down.

"Does _she_ know what kind of demonic prick you are? Or is that reserved only for the woman you forced into marrying your sorry ass?"

Strong clutches wound around the meat of her arm making Jasmine yelp in pain as Jafar spun her around, shoving her forward while her heels dug into the floor, refusing to cooperate. He slammed the front of her petite body into the mattress, leaving Jasmine's feet rooted to the ground at the end of the bed. Then, with a gasp that stifled her words, Jasmine cried out. Jafar shredding the back of her dress.

Jasmine yelled, swatting behind her as she tried to stand straight, but he struck her down with an elbow to the spine, and with his hands continued to rip deep gashes down the back of her mother's dress.

"Stop it! Jafar stop!" Blackened tears cascaded from her decorated lashes, "It's all I have of her, please!"

But he didn't let up until the dress had been slashed clean open, running down past her naked buttocks, revealing Jasmine's smooth sex as she remained bent over the bed.

Jafar growled seeing the pure cinnamon skin, mesmerized by the light bouncing off her muscular back and the swell of her pert round ass. Though he hated every minute of it, Jasmine's time away had done her some good and made her body strong and even sexier than he thought possible. Jafar wanted to lap at the slick moisture between her folds – his mouth watering when catching the smell of her arousal. But it reminded him of the first time he'd smelled the sweet musky scent; when it lingered on that fucker's fingers in the brothel. He stepped away, coming around to the side where his wife could see him.

Jasmine sniffled, and remained motionless in her position even as she peered up at him.

"If you get up…Or try to run away, I will slit your throat. Do you understand?"

_Bastard. How would you like it if I talked to you that way? Bent your ass over in a humiliating position?_

Jasmine nodded, this time biting her tongue, shivering as Jafar strolled over to a small box on the desk, then pulled something from it as he turned back around. Jafar walked with slow precision and Jasmine's horror grew, trying to decipher if this was actually happening or if she was trapped in a bloody nightmare. Salted cloth spun counterclockwise as Jafar unveiled a severed hand, it's half-curled fingers stiff with postmortem and discolored with decay.

Almond shaped eyes burned, unable to blink.

"What was the name of the _worm_ at the you tried fucking? Cock Sucker? … I suppose it doesn't matter. A name serves no purpose to a dead _rat_. However, I have been curious as to what _you_ called him. What name you screamed while _fucking_ his hand?"

Jafar came to the side of the bed keeping the wrist wrapped in its cloth where he held it, and squatted down so his eyes were level with hers.

"_This_ hand…to be exact." He gave a wicked grin of sincere enjoyment. A look of satisfaction reaching brown eyes at the trauma he was causing.

"I figured, little _wife_…" A huff of air left Jafar's chest as he spoke in a tone that suggested every word was heartfelt and logical. "I felt so burdened for interrupting what you two shared. I think it only fitting to repay you for any inconvenience I may have caused. Giving you a chance to **_finish_** what was started."

Jafar hovered the cold split fingertips near Jasmine's lips, and she winced, blinking away tears as she pulled her mouth inwards.

"I was going to preserve the hand with magic, keep it fresh longer and more lively. But there was something about it decomposing that I found so – poetic."

Within an instant his wide smile darkened, changing from a sly cheeky grin to a derisive wicked snarl, and he pushed the dead limb to her mouth. With determined forcefulness, a finger almost slipped past her lips, causing Jasmine a muffled cry.

Dracul's dead hand left her skin, "Do you _not_ want this?" Jafar looked her over as if surprised to be doing something she didn't like.

Jasmine closed her eyes not wanting to watch how he enjoyed torturing her, fighting to keep sanity and not break down into complete rubble.

"When this hand still had an owner, your cunt squirted all over it. What's the difference now? If you don't believe me taste it for yourself. I'm sure you'll find a trace of your pussy on it." Jasmine exhaled rapidly through her nostrils, the revolting object forced at her mouth again, "Lick it" Jasmine shook her head, eyes closing tighter. "That wasn't a request, Jasmine…I said, **_lick_** it."

He pushed harder, bearing wide teeth and Jasmine screamed bloody murder inside her mouth. If it wasn't for Jafar's threat to kill her, she would have jumped up and ran away. But a healthy sense of fear kept her immobile.

The fingers moved away from her mouth, Jafar seemingly satisfied as he stood to walk around to her exposed backside. Jasmine released her sore lips from under her teeth, slowing down her frantic breathing.

"Clearly, you need more convincing to be obedient."

Blackened tips of Dracul's appendages pressed at Jasmine's entrance, the gnarly split fingernails poking against her soft pink flesh and she yelped, closing her eyes again as she cried.

"Allow me to remind you, what you found so _sexy_ about _fucking_ his fat fingers. Although," he gave a chaste scoff, "I'm not entirely sure how this got you off in the first place."

He inhaled sharply ready to plunge the dead limb into her when Jasmine screamed, pleading for him to stop. She begged with the entirety of a broken heart, sobbing, trembling and apologizing. She didn't know exactly why she had to be sorry, but asked for forgiveness anyway, trying to say anything that would make Jafar rethink this gruesome morbid plan.

"Why should I believe that, when I saw for myself how wet you were –."

"I thought of you!"

The pressure stopped just before it entered the quivering opening.

"I imagined _you_ Jafar. I tried to imagine anything else because I didn't want him. And all I could think of," Her words caught, coming out in a strangled tone, feeling one hundred percent humiliated, "All I wanted to imagine … was _you_!"

Nothing more happened, as Jafar gave a triumphant chuckle and went to place the hand back in its box. Her face fell as she watched him, through blurry vision, pour himself wine and lean against his desk; flashing her a look of sardonic delight as he locked eyes over the brim of his glass.

Just another mind game.

Jasmine lifted her head from the mattress and whispered in a tone she didn't know she possessed. "I'm going to kill you, one day. For _everything_ you've done to me."

She didn't know if she meant it, but it sure felt good to say.

Jafar cackled enjoying this a little too much as he set down his glass and came around to the bed once more, "Oh come now my pet. I _saved_ you from the brothel, remember?" He gave a dreadful smirk mockingly reminding Jasmine of her own words. She should never have thanked him for coming to get her.

Jasmine bit back dryly looking at nothing as Jafar disappeared back behind her, "I would have rather you broken my neck in that alley and left me to rot."

She could hear him grin and knew he was pleased with himself. "Mm – my little pussy cat."

Jasmine closed her eyes at that nickname, almost preferring to be called little mouse.

Jafar's hands pressed on both sides of her waist, dipping into the bedding as he hovered over her naked back and whispered into her hair, "It's much more rewarding to have you in my bed. _Bleeding_."

Jasmine froze, praying to Allah that if Jafar killed her it would be swift.

Jafar pulled free his hardened cock and without warning, rammed his organ at her narrow slit. Jasmine gave a high-pitched shriek, body tensing as her mouth twisted open. The head of his cock was blocked upon the first thrust, the tight virgin walls making it difficult to enter. Taking hold of her hips, Jafar struck himself into her once more, splitting the barrier as his swollen dick plummeted into her silky warmth.

He gasped in a deep raspy breath, head rolling back slightly before he dug his nails into her flesh and thrust mercilessly with dry rough plunges. Jasmine found herself choking on strangled screams, unable to create a sound that matched the amount of pain inflicted upon her. With the rapid stabbing of his massive cock, Jasmine felt herself tearing, muscles burning relentlessly as Jafar took her from behind, digging himself deeper until there wasn't a part of her left untouched. Jasmine gasped, crying into the comforter with broken moans of agony. She clawed at the bed trying to steady herself, the jewel from her headpiece slapping against her skin as Jafar pounded into her with brutal force; hissing, "Yesss," as he lost himself in the depths of her virgin cunt.

Her words were jumbled and inhuman while pleading for Jafar to stop. Telling him he was hurting her, that she felt every inch of him destroying her walls. But that seemed to only make him quicken the pace and fuck her raw. Within moments Jafar found his release, growling as he claimed her with his hot fluid, finishing hard and fast to ensure she received no pleasure at all. Jasmine trembled exhausted, collapsing deeper into the bed when Jafar ripped his organ from her tender sex, making her wince. Then, after she thought he could do nothing more to hurt her, Jafar grabbed the fabric of her dress and used it like a rag, cleaning the blood off his softening cock.

Just as a final fuck you.

Jasmine looked away from how he further defiled her mother's gown, trying to bury her face in the black blanket.

With his flaccid dick tucked back inside the red harem pants, Jafar reclaimed cold calculation and Jasmine could hold it in no longer. She pulled her shaking body to the middle of the bed and rolled over on her side, holding her stomach as she curled into a ball. Jasmine gasped for air, choking as she inhaled and exhaled at the same time, trembling from her head down to her toes like a shattered piece of glass. A woman now broken body, mind, and spirit.

All while Jafar simply watched.

It was a long moment before he said anything at all, speaking only after Jasmine calmed to ugly sniffling and shallow breathing.

"I need you to understand that I found no pleasure in reducing you to this level."

_Liar. You loved every disgusting second of it._

"But I couldn't very well allow you to walk away from your indiscretions scot-free. Any pain you feel, is pain you caused when you made the choice to leave me. And if any man _ever_ touches you again – well, I think I've made it clear I will go through great lengths to send a message. Now. Clean yourself up, and act like a Queen worthy of being at my side." Jafar went to take up his staff and cleared his throat, "Be downstairs in one hour to join our guests – and Jasmine. Get out of that dress. It didn't look good on you anyways."

Jasmine waited for the click of the closing door to sound until she shut her eyes sobbing deep heartbroken cries. Her body convulsed and she pulled her knees into her chest, the torn gown swallowing her body as it sprawled out all around the bed. The insides of her lining felt as if they had been mutilated with a dull blade and a small amount of bile filled her mouth, Jasmine swallowing the lump back down with a shudder. There was no way in hell she could clean herself up and meet him downstairs. She didn't think it even possible to sit up, and found herself only capable of closing her black smudged eyes, wanting the large bed to swallow her.

Having a vivid imagination was invaluable in times like these, when reality was too much a burden to bear. Jasmine blocked out the images of the severed hand, the aching burn of her sex or the way her mother's ruined dress and Jafar's harsh words hollowed out her throbbing heart. Instead, Jasmine fantasized what her wedding would have looked like, if fairytales were real:

_My heart was overwhelmed by the amount of trouble he had gone through to surprise me. Although it was no surprise at all really. My love had always been so kind and thoughtful that I expected nothing less than pure bliss from him. Still, I acted surprised all the same, covering my mouth in astonishment at the array of red and white petals. There was candlelight and fresh crisp wine being poured into two glasses. My husband had rushed up to our room ahead of me, now pretending to have been here the entire time, composed, instead of out of breath from sprinting a flight of stairs. I love him so much and he loves me. It's a wonder how I was so lucky to marry the man of my dreams._

_He started slow, sensual as he kissed my shoulder and thoughtfully helped me slide out of my wedding dress. He doesn't rush me, he knows I'm nervous. As my dress fell to the floor, my darling man took it up carefully folding it aside knowing how much my mother's dress means to me. It doesn't feel like obligation, or something expected, but a part of us that has been there waiting all along to happen. And as he loses his body along with me, we fall into starlight, basking in the glow of our deep never ending love. I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with him. I gladly give myself until death do us part._


	12. Chapter 12: When The Past Comes Calling

A gypsy woman with unruly black hair and fiery brown eyes gave birth to a little boy. He was a handsome baby, and hardly ever cried. Which she had been thankful for. The streets of Paris were lined with soldiers and those who sought to destroy her race.

How fitting. Seeing that a Parisian is the one who impregnated her in the first place, helping expand her kind. When, the man she loved to hate, forbade her from keeping the child, she had run. Gone into hiding. Convinced, that if only she had the child, then he would see the babe and accept it. Accept her. Love her back.

But it wasn't so. He had turned her away and banished her from the streets of Paris, with the little baby in hand. She thought of leaving the child, of abandoning him in the gutters. But something forced her to keep it. And so, she headed back to her childhood country. Back to the streets of Agrabah.

One day, when the boy was barely five, he had asked a question she knew was coming, and it angered her. He always angered her.

"Where did you hear that, boy?"

His large brown doe eyes looked nervously up at his mother and shrugged, feeling guilty for making her upset. His mother groaned, muttering under her breath that she'd never escape the rumors, even if she traveled across the globe.

Still the child remained looking at her, wanting an answer regardless. He was sitting in the dirt floor at her feet, playing with two sticks, pretending they were mighty horses. But now he had dropped them, intent on his mother giving him an answer.

Finally, she snapped at him with a brazen reply, "It means your father didn't want you. People will call you bastard because that's all they can see when they look at you."

"…Oh." Came a whisper, scrunching his thick little brows down into a frown while looking down again at his toys. His small mouth quivered, trying to keep quiet and not cry. Mother hated when he cried. She hated a lot of things about him. Had called him an abomination when she was drinking, and would cry herself to sleep, whispering the name of a man he'd never met. All he thought, in those, was how much he was ashamed to be the reason of mother's heartache.

"Mama…" The boy started carefully, and the woman kept her eyes on her work. "Is Bastard my name then?"

She sighed heavily, setting down the garment she'd been sewing, onto her thin lap. He thought she meant to hit him, and flinched when her arms stretched out to swoop him up and set him on her knees. The embrace felt strange. She rarely ever hugged him, or touched him. Often pulling away from his little hand when he tried to hold hers. As if his skin made hers crawl. Probably because he was a bastard.

But this felt nice. Her lap was a little boney underneath his butt, but she was warm.

"What does a name matter to you, all a sudden? Hmm?"

"The other boys won't play with me in the streets. They won't play with someone without a name."

He shrugged keeping his hands in his lap and his face down, not wanting her to regret holding him in her lap. He liked sitting with her.

"You don't need a name, boy. Names are for noblemen and people of honor. Now. Put it out of your mind, and help me prepare lunch."

Later that day they had gone down to the stream to get water and clean some clothing. The gypsy woman stood, wiping the sweat from her brow and looked around for her child. When he was nowhere to be found, she began screaming, running down the stream to look for where he'd gone, frantic and dropping her vase of water. When she'd found, him he was in the middle of the rushing stream, playing with a snake.

"Boy!" The gypsy screeched, fear gripping her heart, "Boy, get out of there! Get away from that thing!" Terrified, she barely wrapped her mind around the fact he hadn't been washed away with the current. Or bitten.

"But mama, it won't hurt me," the child smiled victoriously. He was so thin and tiny compared to the large rushing water, and his mother yelled again, panic striking through her at what she was seeing.

"Is that your child?" Came a voice from behind.

The woman turned, panic evident in her eyes, looking to the stranger for help.

"Most grown men can't cross a stream without being knocked down or swept away. Your boy is special. What's his name?" he smiled seemingly unafraid for the child's safety even as the black viper slithered around the child's hand and then away with the stream.

The five-year-old trudged through the water with fair ease, speaking when his mother still hadn't.

"I'm only a bastard," he shrugged, stepping to the surface.

The young boy retained mannerisms of a little adult, though couldn't be more than five, which made the bearded man smile. The woman, who must be the mother, had remained stiff, not saying a word; and he squatted down to come eye to eye with the child.

"Is that so? I think you look more like a snake charmer to me," he grinned playfully pulling at the little nose with a jeweled hand. "Do you have a name?"

The boy shook his head matter-a-fact, moving his doe eyes to the ground and back up again.

"How about we call you," the man looked from the child to the rushing water where he had been standing, "Jafar?"

The boy's soft eyes asked quizzically, "What does that mean?"

"_Stream_ my boy," the voice was booming and full of jolly as he smiled through a brown cloud of facial hair, "Powerful and majestic as a stream. Just. Like. You."

Jafar looked back at the water and smiled nodding vigorously. He liked the sound of that name. Much better than bastard or just boy.

"You're a special boy Jafar. Don't forget that." He gave him a wink and another tickle on the nose, before standing and walking calmly away.

Jafar pushed past his mother's skirt, calling out after the man. "Sir. What's your name?"

The bearded man turned walking backwards as he laughed, "Hamed. Sultan Hamed."

"Will we meet again, Hamed?"

Hamed gave a nod, turning back around to walk straight as he called over his shoulder, "You can count on it my boy!"

* * *

Jafar stirred from his slumber, his head rolling back tiredly against the chair where he sat in his tower. He had come in here to put away the book of poems, that was set out for the ceremony, then plopped down to drink some wine, unintentionally dozing off. Judging by the slowly setting sun, Jafar guessed he'd been in here the better part of a few hours.

Jasmine was supposed to meet him downstairs long ago, but, fortunately for her, he hadn't been there to follow through. What did it matter? He'd rather stay here hidden away in his place of solitude instead of forced to join a reception he couldn't otherwise give a damn about.

A rap came at the wooden door, and Jafar's heart leapt. No one knew of his quarters, but some guards and Jasmine; and he couldn't help but hope, for just a moment, that the latter was upon his steps.

"Darling?" The husky voice drawled from behind the entrance, "Jafar, darling. Are you in there?"

Jafar's pulse slowed and he closed his eyes agitated. That damned woman was incessant. Maybe if he held his breath, Cruella would go away.

"Damnit Jafar I can hear you breathing! Now open the bloody door!"

Jafar swore, barking in a blasé tone, "It's unlocked, woman."

Cruella fumbled with the door, cursing sacrilegiously before finally throwing her boney frame into it as the door shot open.

"Why didn't you just say that from the bloody start? Instead of making me wait out there, in that dark, disturbing, stairwell for nothing!"

Jafar shrugged a shoulder, slightly amused at how angry Cruella became over trivial matters. He enjoyed her company, most of the time, finding her drunkenness and uncouth mannerism entertaining at best.

"God, you look like shit," Cruella spat, shutting the heavy door as she walked over to the small table behind him. "Have any Gin?"

"Why is it every time you're in my home, you take all of my booze?"

"Whiskey? Ale?"

"Wine." He said flatly.

"Wine it is then" Cruella found the bottle and another glass. "Although, I feel a real man would have something of more sustenance in his private quarters."

"One would think a man could call his private quarters, _private_. So, it would appear we're both matched in disappointment." He bared his teeth, taking the glass of wine, before Cruella sat in the duvet next to him.

After taking a few sips of wine in silence, Cruella asked the impending question.

"So…Where is your bride? That, sexy little minx with her devious mind."

Jafar evaded the prying gaze, looking into his wine instead.

"If I were you, I'd be in there sucking on those creamy tits, and wouldn't leave until neither of us could walk."

The wine burned coming back up as Jafar choked, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth to wipe away the fluid. "Is there something you would like to tell me, Cruella?"

"Oh, don't act like you haven't seen two women together before, Jafar. Modesty isn't a mask that fits you. And yes. I would like to announce that, that fiery exotic woman is a delicious delicacy, and I would gladly run a tongue over her," Cruella winked alarming Jafar, "Don't worry darling, I still have a thing for you too."

"Lucky me," he grumbled taking another swig, allowing the oaked fluid to swirl against his tongue before swallowing it down.

"So," Cruella wasn't satisfied to leave the conversation there and Jafar shot her a dirty look, "Why _aren't_ you with Jasmine?"

A sound came as his tongue left the roof of his mouth, "If you're so fucking concerned, perhaps, _you_ should have married the shrew."

Cruella sat up straight, coming to the edge, to face him all the better, "Well I'd sure as hell be a better partner to her on her wedding night and with her right now; instead of sulking like some pissed off, stubborn, old fool!"

Jafar eyed her carefully, trying to send a threat that was ignored; Cruella huffed, throwing herself back into the seat as she finished her glass.

"I can't."

She sat upright again, "And why the bloody hell not!"

Jafar swirled the remaining ruby fluid, the setting light from the window casting a ray of red to reflect in his lap. "I broke her."

The silence he kept needing eluded him once more, as the shrill voice of disapproval caused a splitting pain at the back of his head.

"God dammit Jafar! You're fucking things up on purpose."

His dark eyes intensified, envisioning holding Cruella's head under water, "Am I? On what pretense, do you gain the notion that you know a damn thing about me?"

"Because we're friends. Whether you want to be or not –."

"– I don't," he interjected.

"And being the only person in your life that gives even the slightest shit for you, I can tell you that your fox of a woman did not deserve whatever demonic hell you unleashed on her. You're a fool, Jafar."

He bore his teeth, lips twisting up in a scathing grimace, "Are you _quite_ finished?"

It was more of an ultimatum and Cruella took it as such. Jafar was a troubled man, and though he tolerated her, she knew that was all he did. This time she wouldn't push her luck, and so changed the subject.

"Come darling, the reception is filled of drunk guests dying to be greeted with the presence of their host." She stood holding out a hand for him, and he reluctantly accepted it, first polishing off his glass.

Her arm hooked around his, and they strolled toward the ballroom and Jafar's chest tightened, wondering if he would see Jasmine there, as he had earlier commanded, or if he would have to find a new way to punish her for insubordination.

To his surprise, and slight relief, Jasmine had followed his orders and was indeed at the reception, sitting collectedly at a decorated white and red table. Jafar felt a lump in his throat as he watched her safely from a distance. Jasmine had changed from the wedding smock. By no choice of her own, he admitted. But he felt no remorse for shredding that despicable getup off her body. It did her no justice. If Jasmine had only known the horrors attached to that dress, she would have thanked him for ridding her of it instead of screaming trying to hit him like he was some monster.

Now, Jasmine wore a light blue gown, that clung to the crevices of her curvy body, trimmed in gold and white embellishments. A simple gold crown was placed on her head, the headpiece she'd worn for their wedding, gone. Her hair had been rearranged too, the ribbons removed, and the large massive curls combed through leaving them wavy and smooth and pulled to the crest of her head. A glow of the light bounced off the thick cascading swirls of raven hair, as the silky locks fell over bare shoulders. Just like an angel. _His_ angel, devised for his personal hell.

"Close your mouth darling, you'll catch something." Cruella forced Jafar's jaw closed, smoothing over his facial hair before releasing his face. "You left her broken you said? Hmph… She doesn't look too broken to me darling. I think you underestimate her."

Cruella looked to Jasmine across the room, who was smiling gently at the guests, head held high and fully composed with grace. Cruella gave Jafar's arm a squeeze and patted his buttocks, making him jolt. But before he could gripe she had found the liquor table and was in conversation with a group of young men.

He made his way through the rumpus crowd, never breaking contact from where his wife sat. His palms became clammy, though he cursed his body for the despicable act, as he looked down on her, pulling out the chair to take a seat. He readied himself, making his broad shoulders to widen as he waited for her to strike him and curse him for all he had done to her. But it never came. In fact, the retaliation she inflicted was far worse. Refusing to look at him, remaining cold and distant even as they sat side by side. He felt like she was miles away from him and he couldn't hold onto her, couldn't keep her with him.

A harsh reminder of the future he knew would come. His time with Jasmine was limited and it was only a matter of time until she left him forever. But, until that day, he would do everything in his power to keep what belonged to him, possibly breaking her legs in the process.

_Ignore me all you want, little woman. We both know who is in control._

"I must admit I wasn't expecting you to obey me, my dear." It was laced with chafing sarcasm.

"I didn't come down here for you. I did it to see my father. And my people."

Jafar sneered, ignoring the way his chest tightened again when she refused to look at him, "I'm surprised you were able to even walk down those stairs. I thought I'd broken you, like a frail, porcelain doll."

Jasmine remained calm, having taken upon a mask of coolness similar to his own, "Your worries can rest, _Sultan_. It will take more than a deviant coward to break me."

"Hm – I'll have to keep that in mind. Little wife." His mouth was pressed into a firm line, still watching the side of her face, as Jasmine continued to look forward. Never so much as glancing in his direction. He wanted to take her by the back of the head, and fill her spiteful, perfect, mouth with something she couldn't ignore. _Then_ Jasmine would be forced to look at him – to acknowledge he was there. That she belonged to him and him alone.

The blonde haired Austrian man came up to the table. Or rather bumped into it sloshing his whiskey all over the white cloth, before tugging at it trying to stay upright. This is exactly, why Jafar didn't want to be here. He didn't want any of them here for that matter, and longed for the deafening silence of an empty palace.

"Sultan, Sultana."

"Tobias," Jasmine cut in before Jafar could say anything. He slow turned to face her, appalled that she had spoken before him, and to one of his business partners no less. "Are you enjoying yourself, sir?"

Jasmine smiled magnanimously at the drunken man, and Jafar glowered. How dare she smile at a man she didn't even know, who by the way had never liked Jasmine until just recently, but evade her husband of any form of acknowledgement?

"My Lady. I would be ostentatiously delighted, if you should agree to a dance with me."

Jasmine leaned over slightly in front of Jafar to touch Tobias' hand. Her perfumed hair, just inches from Jafar, caused his eyes to water, fluttering against his will, as her intoxicating aroma filled him in places he had earlier drained.

"I would love to Tobias, but I don't dance."

_Good. _Jafar fumed eyeing his wife's delicate hand still holding Tobias'. _Now go away before I have you boiled in a tar pit._ Jafar refused to dance and make a spectacle of himself. Such trivial rituals were meant to induce drunken stupors and he damn sure didn't want Jasmine involved with that. He had only agreed to the reception because Cruella talked him into it, and he thought it a good way to keep everyone occupied while he defiled his wife upstairs, where no one could hear her screaming over the crowd.

But that had been short lived, and now he was stuck here in this hellhole of sweaty licentious rodents. Before he had time to react, Jasmine was up out of her seat, and walking to the dancefloor with Tobias, hand in hand. Jasmine ignored him still, but the Sultan knew she felt the burn of his black gaze while he leaned back in the chair, legs parting as a hand laid in his lap, and the other on the table. Looking like a scheming dark man. And he was scheming. Planning all the ways his wife would later pay for her insolence.

* * *

"That's perfect my boy! Excellent work, Jafar." Sultan Hamed patted Jafar's back, although he could barely reach it anymore seeing as the boy grew like a tree and towered his own short form.

The two stepped back, looking up at the finished sculpture, both smiling at Jafar's first piece of artwork. Though the fifteen-year-old boy found a million things wrong with it, the sultan had insisted it was a fine specimen, and that it would be turned into a flowing fountain, with a base around it, filled with lily pads and fish.

"No, my Lord, please don't do that. I thought this was just for practice. It's no good."

"Oh, I beg to differ," came a husky sweet voice from behind, causing the boys to turn as the Sultana neared them in the garden, "If my husband says it's well, then it must be so. Isn't that right darling?"

Sultan Hamed tilted upwards to kiss the Sultana on the cheek, as she leaned in expecting it; while her eyes devoured the sturdy young man. His tall build, and broad, glistening, sweaty chest made her lick her lips. He looked well above his age. Not like a fifteen-year-old, but rather a full-grown man.

Jafar smirked back, looking to the statue and back at her, deviously.

"Well, I must be going. I'll be here first thing in the morning to see what other work you have for me," Jafar bowed swiftly, and ran off towards the gates.

"My boy, wait," Sultan Hamed chased after Jafar, barely able to catch his breath as his short legs and slightly rounding tummy made it difficult to keep up with the energetic young man. "Here," he laid cold coins into Jafar's large hand, "A payment in advanced."

"Two _gold_ coins? No – I can't take this your majesty."

"Yes, you can, and you will." Hamed closed the long fingers back over the money, guiding Jafar's hand away, insisting he take it, "You deserve this and more."

"As do many other's in Agrabah. Hundreds of families are far worse off than my mother and I. I will not accept this."

The sultana crossed her jeweled arms in the distance, and Jafar looked from her back to the man whose brown hair was peppered with white strands. Jafar reaffirmed he would be back tomorrow for work, then went. The gold coins left behind in Sultan Hamed's round fist.

Jafar strolled towards a small hovel with a basket of red apples, concentrating on the events of the evening, and how Sultan Hamed had again tried giving him too generous amount of money. As he had the last few times, Jafar refused it, feeling selfish for accepting such an extravagant gesture for something he hadn't earned – Regardless of how his mother had lashed out at him for doing such a "stupid selfish thing." Apparently, money was more valuable than hearing how her son's day was, or what he had learned in his studies – which the sultan kindly permitted. He knew he would get in trouble for it again, but he stepped into the hut with full intent to be honest, when he stopped dead in his tracks. The basket fell with a crackling sound, the wicker strands snapping as red apples spilled out and one rolled from Jafar's feet, into a pool of thick red blood.

His mother was sprawled out on the floor, face up, with blue lips. Her wrist and throat red with deep self-inflicted gashes. The adolescent fell to his knees, crawling on the floor, repeating in a strangled voice, "No, no, no, no!" With shaky hands, he reached for her, hesitating as they hovered over her thin frame, afraid he would hurt her further by touching her.

This was all his fault. He knew it was. She had cursed him from the time he'd been seeded in her womb, and every day since. Telling him more times than he could count how her life was ruined the day he was born. Now, because of her broken heart and disappointment, she had killed herself. All because of the bastard son. Jafar held his mother, searching the dead cold eyes that stared into nothingness. A look she had given him many a times over fifteen years. A look of despair. Of loss. Of emptiness. But now the brown eyes held only an eternal void, her spark of life snuffed out. Though he wanted to cry, he couldn't. All he was capable of doing, was staring off into space, physically feeling himself close off his heart; slamming the iron door shut on his soul.

Young Jafar buried his mother, making an unmarked grave far out of the city with a makeshift shovel, then returned, bloodied and covered in dirt during the late hours of the night, ending up at the gates of the palace.

* * *

What at first sounded like a cry of distress, Jafar quickly took for a squeal of delight, snapping him from his troubling memories and back to the reception. Jasmine had now changed partners, dancing rather clumsily, as she tried to keep up with the foreign steps, but finding joy in it regardless.

Jafar grumbled a curse word under his breath, feeling too stubborn to go and take her in his arms and away from the well-dressed Arabian man holding onto her waist. He dared not allow her the privilege of thinking she got to him or made him jealous. Such a meaningless emotion induced weakness. And he was anything but weak.

But when the man's hand began slipping lower over the swell of her hip, and coming around to her buttocks, Jafar envisioned flipping the table, and hurling across it like an animal, slicing the fucker with claws until he looked like unraveled bloody thread.

Jasmine's dance partner stopped suddenly, mid swing, but Jasmine was already apart from him, not noticing as she spun independently, before turning back around. But this time, the man she fell into the arms of wasn't Achmed, but her sadistic husband. Jasmine stifled her moan of stunned discontent and reminded herself she would keep a wall up, neither allowing him to see how her body trembled against his warmth, or how he struck fear into her bones. Therefore, keeping her eyes averted from him at all costs; preventing the monster from dissecting her innermost thoughts.

"I didn't know you could dance?" She remarked snidely, trying to remain unaffected by him. But Jafar saw the flaws in her resolve, knowing good and well, that Jasmine was _anything_ but indifferent.

"I can, only if I must. Which, in this case, you seemed to have forced me to do so."

Jasmine took his propped hand, her freed one resting rigidly on his shoulder, as he pulled her closer in around the waist and began to move.

After a moment, she spoke softly, trying to remain apathetic and failing, "You're not terrible, at it – I suppose."

He couldn't help but smile, though he replaced it quickly before anyone could see, "That surprises you my dear?"

"There is plenty that has surprised me about you," She said flatly with a coldness that chipped off each word and his dander rose, wanting her to look up at him. To scratch his eyes out even. _Anything_besides this cool monotone mask.

"And that's something you, hate?" He probed trying to widen the cracks in her indifferent behavior.

"It's **_you_** that I hate, Jafar."

_There she is._

Vibration rumbled as he sniggered against her, the tremor making her breath hitch. Jafar held her out by both hands, and spun her around, crossing her arm over then bringing both in around her stomach as her back pressed into him; and for the briefest of moments, Jafar swore she melted into him. But he knew it was absurd to imagine Jasmine ever finding gratification from his touch, and shoved it from his mind as he whispered against her beautiful neck.

"Stop trying to make me love you," his half-lidded eyes watched from the side of her face, enamored by the way her thick lashes shot up as she made an irritated gasping noise, and he grinned; raising her arms back up and untwisting her from the position to bring her back around as they begin again to move about the floor.

He loved messing with Jasmine and somehow always knew the right things to say to make her face redden; as if he could read her mind with a simple look. Of course, he couldn't, and wished that was a power within his abilities. If anything, Jasmine seemed to be able to read him. Able to throw his spiteful words back at him, like a mirror that showed him his own deep deformed scars. Somehow knowing that he still had a heart, no matter how blackened, and tried to pry it from his chest daily.

"A man with no heart, could never love."

Reading him again, even as he tried to block her out.

"And how do you think a man loses his heart in the first place?"

They slowed, Jasmine finally looking up at him and their eyes locked, his sex instantly twitching, craving to be inside of her – like a moth to the flame.

She was doing it again, picking him apart, and it burned like a hot poker iron twisting in his gut. Jasmine was trying to read into his words, as if she could scourge his brains and figure out why he was such a sick fucker and save him.

But he was past saving. Didn't want to be saved.

Jasmine bit at her lip, brown eyes zeroing in on him as her dark brows raised in timid concern. She was stunning, even if he found her relentless spirit exasperating. She was fire, and light, and pure of heart, and everything he could never be. A constant synopsis of what had been stolen from him long ago. Or maybe what he never had possessed in the first place.

He moved a strand of her fallen hair behind her ear, and saw her chest swell, tightening under the clinging fabric of her breasts; taking a shaky breath as his fingertips grazed her skin. He'd expected her to shudder from him, run away and scream profane insults at how his boney claws felt like death. But she didn't; instead almost leaned into his touch.

Was this not the same woman he had left half naked in his bed upstairs? The same woman whom he'd wrecked, time and again, mentally and physically. How was she this strong? To still be standing here, after all he'd done to her. Knowing all the things that he would surely do to her in the future. She was powerful – a different form of power he'd never known until Jasmine.

But that would change. He would make it change. Whether he wanted to or not, he would break her in every way possible, and keep at it until she could stand no more. Then, no matter the threats, or how many lives he took trying to find her, she would be gone. And he would rightfully be left alone to burn.

Their faces inched nearer, her soft lips parting as his reciprocated and they leaned in to kiss, but something pulled his head up in attention; a blonde-haired woman with pale skin, making her way through the ballroom and onto the balcony. He lifted Jasmine's hand to his mouth instead, planting a brazen kiss that made her frown, and he left her there, forgotten in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

Jafar came to the edge of the entrance of the ballroom balcony and leaned into the grandeur archway, his hands clasped behind his back as he watched Ettie look out at the rising moon.

Without a word from him, she had sensed his dominating presence behind her. "I'd almost forgotten how beautiful it was here. So…magical."

Jafar gave a silent nod, looking out over the city as candlelight dotted the streets and brilliant stars became more abundant.

"How long will you be staying with us." He didn't come out here for idle chattering and wanted to keep it short.

The woman turned, gloved hands gently cupped in front of her as she stilled, trying to gauge the austere man. "As long as I'm welcome." Her lips parted to a stunning grin, her tone hopeful.

After all she had been through, she still looked innocent. He remembered the times when she had been less than virtuous, having enacted the demons of her own soul along with him. They were so similar. Both masking their grief and sorrowful past – albeit in severely different ways.

"Nothing has changed, Henrietta."

Henrietta giggled sweetly, looking down at the balcony floor as she stepped slowly to him.

"Plenty has changed, Jafar. You're the Sultan now…"

"And married." He said dryly.

She looked away, with a crack in her smile. He didn't want to hurt her. But he hurt everyone.

"Yes…I was there." She sighed shakily, her eyes gleaming in the ambiance of the newborn night sky, her heart shaped mouth struggling to feign happiness. "You did it."

Jafar closed his eyes briefly, coming off of the walling to stand as if readying himself for the preverbal blow.

"You got _everything_, you had ever wanted." Her eyes closed when she emphasized '_everything'_, shaking her head gently as she spoke. "It appears you didn't need me after all."

He hadn't noticed her walking towards until she was on top of his feet, and froze as her hand rested at the side of his face, her touch burning into him. If he'd had a heart left, it might break.

"Ettie…Stop." he whispered her name, gritting his teeth in vexation. He didn't want to hear this.

"You won the bet." She choked a laugh, blinking away tears. But Jafar felt nothing, shutting it out forcefully, ignoring the blast of cold air hitting his gut from her double edge sword. The past was a bitch and he hadn't remembered inviting the ass to his wedding.

She pulled his face down slightly, his forehead resting against hers for a brief moment, both their eyes closing as if mourning something between them. Then, Henrietta stepped past him, brushing her chest against his arm as she went. Jafar remained glued, rolling his neck to try and relieve the relentless stress that was today.

"Father and I will leave in two days' time. If that's alright with you."

He heard her turn to look over her shoulder as she whispered, but Jafar remained steadfast, looking out on his country as he gave wordless affirmation.

Then she was gone, lost in the sea of drunk merry faces and Jafar ran a massive hand over his tired one, as if the motion could clear away the warped memories that created the last two decades.

He stepped further out, trying to gain a moment of clarity away from the obnoxious music and leaned over the railing, watching the aunt-like-city beneath him. He was getting too old for this shit.

* * *

When Jafar had arrived at the palace gates, pounding them with muddy fists, the guards came out, chests puffed, and swords drawn, forcing him to back away. They called him a disease-ridden street rat, and made nasty scathing jokes.

"Did you eat her?"

Came the reply of one rather fat guard when Jafar had tried to tell them his mother had died, and he had nowhere else to turn.

Jafar looked disgusted, but didn't reply.

"You ate her didn't ya?" The guard snorted, gasping out a disgusting snigger and as the other, a hunched over withering man, remained straight faced, unmoved by the sob story of the street rat.

"Look at you, skin and bones. Did you kill her street rat?" The fat guard stepped in closer to intimidate the child, but Jafar remained deadpan, "If you killed her, that's a crime. You know what a crime is, rodent?"

"Nah, he doesn't know what crime means. Look at him, he's too stupid. Aren't you boy?" Said the wiry guard, looking to his partner then back to Jafar.

"Is _that_ why ya killed your mum? So, you could eat her?"

The two guards had boxed Jafar in, the large man at front, the smaller near the back. "And you know what we do with murdering thugs?" came the latter.

Even when the sword, running over the fingers of the man, did sound, Jafar remained undeterred. His face emotionless and latent, determined to not let anyone see his weakness. People with weaknesses didn't last long in Agrabah.

"I think he's challenging you, Ali." Came the smaller guard, and Ali stepped in so his hefty weight crushed the tops of Jafar's foot, pinning the boy there. Not that Jafar was going to run anyways. He was too scared to even move.

"_Are_ you challenging me rodent? This doesn't scare you? How about if I gut you?" Ali smiled, and Jafar noticed how a good chunk of his teeth were missing. "Yeah… I'll gut you nice and slow while you watch, screaming." The sword pressed into Jafar's stomach and his pulse quickened, breathing turning rapid, "Will we find a leg in there? Or maybe your mother's **_tit_**?"

Jafar's arms were pulled behind him, and this time he did want to run, but the man still weighed down on his foot and the man behind him, no matter how thin, had Jafar bending at the back, revealing Jafar's belly, and it was difficult to do anything but watch the blade come up and swing –

"What on earth do you think you two are doing!" Saving grace sounded, halting the blade in its place just inches from where Jafar's midsection met. "Ali, Abdul. Let that boy go. _Now_." Her voice was like ice, and the two guards reluctantly released Jafar, standing attention to the Sultana.

"My Queen, we were merely dealing with the scum of Agrabah."

Sultana strode, powerfully, majestically, towards the three men. Never flinching. Not so much as a clear of the throat. Yet her fury was evident, and the guard stammered, justifying his nasty, interrupted, actions.

"…My Queen, this filth is unworthy to walk the earth. It is our humble duty to cleanse ourselves of their species."

No one said a word, and Jafar thought for a moment the Sultana would change her mind and allow them to gut him where he stood, and froze. Too petrified to even breath.

With a sudden whip, the guard was knocked on all fours, the Sultana's backhand busting the side of his rounded cheek as she struck with a jeweled hand. With a snap of her fingers three more guards, Jafar hadn't seen before, appeared behind her. Then, without warning, a sword swung in on fail swoop, severing Ali's head clear from his body. Every drop of blood drained from Jafar, who couldn't remove his eyes from the gushing blood and the dismembered head that had rolled, and now was looking straight up at him.

Sultana remained rooted, and Abdul, the smaller one, fell to the dirt and crawled, sniveling as he groveled, kissing the tops of her golden feet. Jafar had never seen such a powerful thing before. The way the Sultana held the world on her jeweled finger and could end a life with a bat of her long lashes.

"It is not _my_ forgiveness you should have to beg for." Sultana's voice was smooth like honey but stung in a poisonous way, as she nodded to where Jafar stood.

Abdul looked up from her feet, his mouth twisted as he trembled and his eyes were red with tears. Then glanced from Sultana to Jafar and cried louder, gasping and sniffling grossly in humiliation before deciding life was more important than pride, and then crawled to Jafar's bare feet, and kissed them.

In that moment, the boy's heart skipped a beat and he felt this unknown amount of pressure swell within his chest. Maybe his ego? But he. Loved. It. To see a man so broken, after treating him so cruelly, crumble on the floor at his feet, and asking for forgiveness? The sight was too delicious and Jafar felt himself on a high from it; which remained even after the Sultana had brought him inside the palace, had him bathed, and then sent to the opium den. He only came down from the mountaintop when the Sultana had met him in the room, alone, and was now outstretched on the cushions in front of him like a goddess, popping a berry into her mouth.

She was so beautiful, and elegant. But most importantly _powerful_ and everything he had ever hoped to grow up to be. With a word, she controlled the wind, a flick of the wrist the waves. And for some reason, he could not fathom, she sought his company. The Sultan had long sense been in bed. Only by the grace of Allah did the Sultana happen to be unable to sleep tonight and had taken a late-night stroll in the garden, overhearing the commotion her guards were causing. She had rescued him, then avenged him, and welcomed him into her home, sharing fresh fruits and hookah. It was more than his own mother had ever done for him, and Jafar couldn't help but want to give his life for this woman.

"She never loved me." He whispered from the cushions where he sat, legs crossed, "My mother hated me, even with her last dying breath, I know she cursed me, blaming me for her heartaches."

Sultana sat up slowly, her long hair tied back, draping over her shoulder. It was clamped by golden cuffs in two areas, making her hair bunch in the center of each section, while the tail of her hair curled down and out. And she had an abundance of gold armlets, bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and rings. Just like a golden idol. Simply stunning.

"Oh, my dear child. Why have love, when you can have _power_?" She smiled devilishly, and Jafar repressed a shudder of how dark her stare was. "Don't think so small minded, Jafar. Love, is fleeting and weak. But _power_?"

The Sultana slithered like a snake on all fours, crawling across the floor to come to where he sat, and Jafar's eyes widened, pulse quickening as his stomach rose. Her curves and flesh were barely hidden underneath the see through glimmering red gown and it made his head fuzzy.

"Power, is everything." She whispered against his ear before taking it in her teeth and he shivered, closing his eyes at the odd sensation. She leaned back onto the heel of her feet, rising on her knees so her chest came eye level with him. Her fingers ran through his hair, clutching the thick long mass as she massaged and tugged at his scalp.

An overwhelming amount of guilt gripped him, "My Queen…don't…His Majesty has been good to me."

"The Sultan is a weak-minded fool, Jafar. Undeserving of power. But you're not weak. Are you?"

Well he didn't _want_ to be weak. He saw what happened to weak people. People like his mother. Consumed by love and heartache and shame. He didn't want to be like her. To be like his father, too weak to take responsibility.

"Don't you want to make men cower before you? Women to die for you?" She pulled his face into her petite breasts, rubbing the smooth fabric against his cheek, then his parted mouth, before tugging his hair so he looked up at her. "I can give you everything you ever wanted, and more. I can show you how good power tastes," her lips brushed his forehead and he closed his eyes. Afraid he wanted to push her away, but he liked the loving attention she gave him; something he had never before had in his life.

"I will show you there are powers on this earth beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do, is let me. And I'll feed you the honeyed drops of Aphrodite and the cunning wickedness of Hades."

Jafar felt her climb onto his lap, straddling him as he straightened his legs in front. He didn't know if he was allowing her on his own free will, or if something darker, more controlling was at work but he accepted her advances regardless, still locking eyes with her smoldering ones. Then he felt his hands move up her milky thighs and around to her backside. But again, it felt out of his control, like his body was no longer a part of him.

"Forget about your worthless father. Your whore mother. She never loved you, but I can show you knew forms of exploding euphoria; and you'll never hope to lap at the acidity of _love. Ever. Again_."

* * *

He pulled from the memory, inhaling the night air frigidly. One woman shows up to his wedding, and with her, brings a flood of memories he thought he'd cut from his life long ago. Jafar turned, resting his backside into the carved deck railing to watch the ruckus of the ballroom.

He heard a woman cackling, and recognized it as Cruella's, and he rolled his eyes. Of course, she was already well drunk. Her black and white hair bobbed up and down as she danced … with another woman.

Jasmine.


	13. Chapter 13: Drink Responsibly

Jasmine _had_ been raped. Regardless if Jafar was now her husband or not, she hadn't been willing. Hadn't wanted it. Not that way. Not ever. There was no love, no consent. Only fear, and abuse. It felt as if she had been drowning. Drowning, over and over again. Her head held underwater until her lungs exploded and blackness consumed her; only to find, she hadn't yet perished, but woke again, face still submerged in a watery grave. Feeling herself held against her will, dying over and over again in a bottomless quarry of agonizing suffering. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't understand _why_. All she was able to do was stay there and drown, and think about drowning. Drowning because of _him_. Because he took more delight in execution than exculpation. Found victory in torment instead of tenderness. He was a monster, through and through, and he was past saving. Past hope. She hated Jafar, and wanted him to die. Wanted him to suffer in unimaginable ways befitting hell.

…Though she shook, aching all over as she sat up on the bed. Though it burned to breathe, and her womanhood screeched out at the simplest of movements. She could cry no more. Drained of all her tears. All her grief inflamed with despair and emptiness, turning her emotions to ash. There was nothing she could do to change the horror of losing her virginity. Of how her husband desecrated his young bride. She felt dirty, and sick to her stomach. She felt alone, and lost, and some part of her wanted to blame herself. The charcoal smudges on her face tightened, cracking against her flawless skin, as Jasmine blinked away the dryness in her eyes. She had nothing left anymore. Nothing to offer anyone ever again.

He took it. All of it. All of her.

She held her stomach with a trembling arm, the front of her mother's dress still intact at her bosom and belly. Her finger danced on the studded garment below her bust, and she had a moment, just the slightest, in which she envisioned wrapping a rope around her neck and letting the vertebrae snap. To leave her body cold and wide eyed for Jafar to find. So, he could know _exactly_ what he did to her and that her blood was on his hands. But she shook the morbid image from her mind, taking into view, as she scanned her prison, the bottle of wine. The glass Jafar had poured for himself earlier was still full, and the bottle sat next to it, filled a little more than halfway.

Though she hurt all over, Jasmine scooted herself from the bedding slowly, holding the torn gown against herself to remain decent; the walls were too close for comfort and loomed over as if they were watching. She steadied herself when reaching the desk, the heel of her small hands leaning into it; trying to regain a shred of strength.

While in the brothel, and long nights of girl talk with Tahira, Jasmine had attained a tiny habit of drinking. Though it was minuscule at best, Jasmine had found the smallest shred of alcohol could ease her tension; allowing her to relax and forget, momentarily, the never-ending sea of turmoil. And though Jasmine's vivid imagination could enrapture her from reality often, tonight she found it a useless trait; imagination and dreaming was for children who had yet to experience the brutality of realism. Therefore, she needed something stronger than wishful thinking and daydreams.

Jasmine had never drunk wine before, but supposed it couldn't be worse than drinking hard liquor, and finished off Jafar's abandoned glass, gulping it down in a single breath. When her head came back up, she instantly felt a tingling sensation at her fingertips, and a glimmer of white light behind her eyes.

"Whoa," her tongue explored the inside of her mouth, smacking her palate, trying to get rid of the bitter taste. Though it hinted of musky old wood, Jasmine took a liking to it, figuring nothing could be worse than going downstairs, of sober mind, to play nice with her accoster. So, Jasmine took the bottle and filled the glass two more times, drinking them like sweet water.

There was at least a glass or so left to be had, but Jasmine decided against it, already feeling slightly woozy from her share. Her sensitive organs hurt a little less, as did her heart, and she found the strength to be able to get bathed, dressed, and fix her makeup and hair; picking out a gown she hadn't worn before. Father picked it out for Jasmine shortly after Prince Ali, Aladdin, had come to ask for her hand.

Oh, the morbid irony of it all.

When Jasmine had finished getting ready for the reception, she had run downstairs to the kitchen and servants' quarters, inviting them all to join her at her party. Initially no one thought it a wise choice, but Jasmine insisted and even loaned some of the girls her dresses and helped fix their hair too. If only Tahira were in the mix, then Jasmine could truly find strength in her weakest hour. Either way, showing up to the reception with dignity, and some friends, rather than a broken-down wreck, was the only way to get back at Jafar - At least for now - and she put on a happy face that could fool her own father.

She had tried ignoring him when he entered the ballroom, not wanting Jafar to know how much control he held over her or how intoxicated she had become. Her face was flushed and she was surprised he hadn't said something about it. Then when she danced with Tobias, and several other strangers, Jafar sat there doing nothing; albeit, to her relief, and Jasmine allowed herself to feel the effects of the wine unafraid. But when Jafar held her in his arms, twirling her around the floor, Jasmine refused to look into those dark beaming eyes; knowing she might kill him if she acknowledged he was there. Or more importantly, he might kill her if he realized she'd drank most of his wine.

When Jafar had looked like he might kiss her sweetly, he ruined everything once again, leaving her to feel more empty and unwanted than she already did, as she watched the brute walk out onto the balcony towards another woman. That damned woman again. Just when Jasmine thought the pale wench had gone, and that kiss had been a misunderstanding, Jafar had left his wife to go be with the conniving-perfectly-blonde-secretive-mistress of London.

Jasmine had endured enough for one day. She wasn't about to entertain the thought of fighting for a demon's affection. She'd seen enough, and allowed plenty more than was acceptable. She would call it a night.

"Where do you think, you're going?"

Jasmine didn't turn, instead held up her gown, stomping away from the dance floor, as she ignored Cruella and the gape in her chest. She had only stopped when Cruella blocked her path, jumping in front of her like a helpless puppy dog, needing her attention.

Jasmine looked over her sculpted shoulder where Jafar stood in the distance, leaning against the archway and towards _that_ woman. The gall – to defile her innocence and then chase down some whore right in front of her. _Dickhead_.

"Does it always hurt like this?"

"Does what hurt, my love?"

Jasmine shook her head turning back to Cruella, who held a glass in her hand, "Forget it. I'm going bed."

Cruella grabbed Jasmine's wrist, turning her back around, "Darling, talk to me. Is it Jafar? Or losing your virtue?"

Jasmine bit her lip, shoving down the acidic taste in her throat. "I don't know…Both? Everything?" Her voice broke, suddenly overcome with emotions, "I …I can handle a lot. Okay? I'm not as weak as everyone thinks I am… But, what that man…what that _monster_ has put me through," her lips tucked under her teeth as she tried gathering incoherent thoughts.

"Tell me darling. You can tell Cruella anything. You know that?"

She allowed her dress to fall around her feet, letting it go so she could hold her stomach, "I don't want to… _feel_." Her breath was shaky, "I don't want to feel any of this anymore. I just want to be numb. I want to forget how much it hurts." Her eyes watered, looking out at the dancing smiling faces, wishing somehow, she could be in their shoes, instead of being tormented by a man she detested.

"I know _just_ the remedy you're looking for," Cruella flashed a wicked grin, catching Jasmine's attention as she handed over her cup of gin, "We're at a party, young Queen. There should be no tears. Only overindulgence and dancing."

* * *

Jafar's stoned heart quickened. Not in the way a love-struck idiot's did. But in the familiar way his would when he was vastly enraged. When the beast, that he tried so often to lock away, decided it wanted to play; clawing at the door of its cage with razor sharp talons and venomous fangs. Somehow or another Jasmine brought it out of him the most, and she was doing it again. Clearly the girl had a death wish.

Jasmine's heart shaped face rose and fell, ducking in and out of the scattered drunks as she moved, dancing, throwing her head back as she laughed. That stunning smile flashing in front of him, taunting him, before being hidden from him again as she spun or moved out of his line of sight. Her hair had been let loose, curling around in a waterfall of waves, flopping over her face before being tossed back to cover her small body. Her happiness mocked him, and he hated whatever was making her laugh so much, hated how she was … _Drinking?!_

Jafar snapped to attention, pushing himself from the railing to straighten, suddenly forgotten of Ettie and the nuisance of past memories; now fully alert to his young wife and the way she drank straight from a bottle of wine.

All he could envision was dragging her out by her neck to throw her over the balcony. This was no way for a Queen to behave. Jasmine was doing it to spite him, to make a fool of herself and in turn a fool out of him. Jafar strode powerfully back inside ready to backhand her when he noticed no one was taunting, or abashed, by how their Queen behaved. In fact, a rather large circle had formed around Jasmine – and her group of morons; everyone seemingly entertained as they clapped along to the music.

Jafar allowed his dander to simmer, for the moment, deciding it best to not cause a scene unless necessary, and leisurely stepped along the outside circle with intense precision. The Sultan clasped his hands behind his back, head tilted as he watched Jasmine, undetected. Like a hunter circling its prey. Watching. Waiting. Looking for his opponent's weaknesses and strengths. Learning when and where to strike a debilitating blow.

* * *

She hadn't known when Geraldine made it up here from the kitchen, but somehow or another, she had and was dancing with Razoul, while Cruella and Tobias partnered up, and men were darting in and out of the circle, to dance with Jasmine; or rather trot around until she was dizzy and gasping for air as she laughed. Everything was funny to her. Hilarious in fact, and she could _not_. Stop. Laughing.

After the first few numbers, Geraldine had requested the troupe to play an Irish song from her homeland, and though their instruments weren't readily meant for such a request, they made do, and Geraldine seemed pleased; now showing everyone how dancing was done in Ireland.

Jasmine found it the damnedest thing; those awkward steps were simply delightful and downright fun! A man hooked her arm, and they spun in a stationary circle causing Jasmine to giggle like a school girl, clutching onto the bottle of wine, taking another swig when they'd stopped. In addition to the three glasses of Jafar's wine, Jasmine drank a glass of Cruella's gin, and now had plowed her way through half a bottle of her own wine. The more she drank it, the smoother it went down. She had been reluctant at first, knowing that alcohol affected people in terrible ways, and was concerned as to what sort of person she would become when intoxicated. But the ache in her belly, and the heaviness of her heart won out, and she took Cruella's advice; the young bride would get good and sloshed for the very first time. It was fitting. There were so many 'firsts' the last twelve hours. Getting married. Getting raped. Having a dead hand thrown in her face. She might as well go all out!

"The one thing that can solve most of our problems is dancing," Geraldine had called out to no one in particular, holding onto Razoul's sturdy arms as he held her close, spinning her along.

Jasmine barely made out what was said, but agreed full heartedly, her wide smile suddenly falling as she nodded, eyes closed, as if in serious deep thought. That's right. _Alcohol_ solved her problems. _Dancing_ solved her problems. Man. She was around so many inspiring people right now. She felt so good, and so relaxed for the first time in a long time. She couldn't remember why she had been sad in the first place, or why she wanted to forget.

_How life could bad be?_ She thought, now enlightened.

Jasmine hadn't noticed she'd stopped in the middle of the circle, her numbed senses able to close out the world around her, and she felt safe where she stood. Doused in calmness and a tingly sensation that touched to the tip of her nose and he ends of her hair. She took another swig. _Alcohol_. And then started to move. _Dancing_.

At first, it didn't match – her movements and the Irish melody. But within a few moments, someone had queued the musicians to change genre, and the music Jasmine had been playing in her mind came to life, encompassing her as it mimicked the flow of her curves. She was concentrating, eyes closed, unaware that her companions had stepped down: allowing the little Queen to steal the show. Jasmine never danced before in her life – aside from one time.

One night, when Jasmine was three or four, the Sultana came in, wine on her breath, happy as ever as she scooped up the Princess and spun her around. "Let's dance little one!"

Jasmine had smiled, running her round baby hands over her mother's cheeks, as her feet were placed back on the floor. "Dance as the gypsies' dance," Sultana had said in a strange high pitched voice. And Jasmine had followed her mother as best she could, excited at trying something new with her mom.

Though that moment was nothing short of a foggy blur, dancing now came second nature; as if she had never stopped dancing after that night with her mother. As if she were a dancer in another life, only now able to discover the hidden talents that she'd always possessed.

Thin muscled arms raised above her, the bottle of wine sewn to her right hand, while her face rolled slightly to the left, feeling wonderfully intoxicated and relaxed. Jasmine's knees were relaxed too, and she began working her left hip upward and forward in a strong accented motion. Activating the outside of her thigh and hip, to give the movement oomph, Jasmine then dropped it slightly before lifting. A drum hit as her hip did, causing a stir of excitement from the audience. Jasmine dropped down the left side, and worked on the right. Up, out, down. Switch. Up, out, down. A little faster each time, controlling every muscle, biding it to do what she pleased as the music kept in time with the little dancer.

She didn't know what this was called, or what it looked like. It felt sexy, and smooth, and liberating and that's all that mattered. Jasmine then began to move her midsection in a figure eight pattern, the abdominal acting as if it were disconnected from the rest of her, and that got an even bigger response. So, she did it faster, and more dramatic, moving like a snake as her delicate arms came from above and stretched out at her sides, her elbows bending slightly, as she propped her hands gracefully. And of course, still kept a loving grip on the bottle's neck.

Someone whistled while another hollered something profane, probably Cruella, and it made Jasmine grin from ear-to-ear, thick lashes touching her cheeks. She decided it time for another drink, and carefully moved the bottle to her lips, throwing her head back as she kept dancing.

One. One gulp was all she'd been allowed when suddenly the glass was ripped from her hand, its rapid departure leaving a trail of red liquid to roll down her chin.

"Ay!" It was more of a sound than a word. Jasmine opened her half-lidded eyes trying to focus as the crowd around her dispersed. A hand was at the small of her back and she grinned, lids heavy like an iron clasp. "Ay. Now. Lookin' is free –," she giggled, "_Touchin'_ is gonna cost ya sumthin'," Jasmine snorted feeling clever as she slurred. Another hand came at the back of her knees, sweeping her off of the ground, pulling her into a firm broad chest.

It felt like the world was spinning, and she looked up, seeing the arches of the palace pass above her in a dizzy mesh of random shapes and colors.

When she spoke, it sounded out of body, and strained, "Ay…Put me down, I'm – I'm married."

Jasmine leaned her head into the man, half asleep when her words finally caught up with her mind and she remembered she'd gotten married today. _Jafar_! Jasmine's eyes shot open, and she tried looking behind her captor. Slurring in concern, looking to see where Jafar could be, and if he would attack her for being in the arms of another. Again.

"My husband. I have a husband," Jasmine squirmed a little, and unhooked an arm so that it came around the man's shoulder. She reached out a hand towards the disappearing ballroom, making a grabbing motion for invisible leverage.

She began again. Although, to be honest, she wasn't sure she had ever spoken in the first place since no one would respond back. But she had to try and convince this person to let her go. Or it could mean bother their heads.

"No… my husband will be mad… Ay," Jasmine swatted at the white clothed chest with a dull thud. "I'll kick yer ass…," a soft deep rumble came against her cheek, the captor taking her threat as a joke.

"Ay, I'm a woman married. Jafar will … my Jafar will," Oh the terrible things that evil man _would_ do. All the terrible things he _had_ done.

Was she crazy? Trying to be carried back to Satan incarnated when it was clear someone had finally come to rescue her from this hell hole? Why should she give a damn what Jafar thought, or what threats he imposed? Her muscles were trembling and she realized her arm was still outstretched towards nothingness, and gave up trying; arm falling limp, swinging lifelessly as they went up the stairs. Jasmine rested her tingling face against the warm chest, breathing in a strangely familiar scent of spiced cinnamon.

The world tipped on its axis when Jasmine was tossed into a dark bed, her head bouncing off the mattress upon impact before coming back down. She didn't care none though. Her entire body was extremely relaxed; so much that if she fell from the tallest window of a tower, her body would bounce off the ground and be just fine. What sounded like flint and steel struck, and in moments a fire was blazing from somewhere in the room. The cackling sound gave her something to focus on, helping calm the nauseated spinning inside her head. And with the warmth around her, and black silk sheets against her flushed face, Jasmine found herself drifting far away.

* * *

He remained by the fireplace, stoking it a little more before rising and coming towards the bed. Jasmine laid on her stomach, arm hanging loosely over the edge with her left leg hiked up. Light blue and white silk had bunched around her creamy skin, and Jafar wanted to reach out and grip the meat of her thigh. His palm itching to smack her lovely, curvaceous, backside and the salivary ducts in his mouth excreted all the more as Jafar imagined tasting, licking, and biting into her perfect flesh.

He swallowed hard, pulling himself away from the entrancing effect she had on him. Jafar went to his desk and shrugged out of the white wedding thobe. He'd meant to take it off earlier, and was glad to be out of the awkward color; now leaving him in the red harem pants and shirt. Red and black were best; white felt to cliché. He folded the garment neatly and hung it over the arm of his chair. A glance was given towards the girl on the bed and he was thankful she was asleep. She was exhausting to say the least, and he was grateful to finally get some silence. Jafar reached out for the glass he had poured himself that afternoon, finding it empty, then picked up the bottle next to it, finding it too nearly drained.

"Son of a bitch –." Jafar held it up in the light, seeing where the mark was compared to where he had remembered leaving it. How much did Jasmine drink? He threw his head back, eyes closing, trying to contain his ever-growing aggravation.

There were two options. Wake the wench up now by smacking her across the face, and give her a much-deserved punishment. Or, wait until she was sober enough in the morning to lash out. At least then she would feel every blow he dealt, and remember every second of her punishment. Deciding on the latter Jafar poured whatever remained from the bottle back into his glass. He took a sip, and envisioned Jasmine drinking from this same cup earlier, and his tongue darted out, licking the brim of the glass, imagining the taste of her delicious mouth.

Jasmine moaned, groggily, turning over onto her back, and Jafar watched through the curvature of the crystal as he polished off the refreshment and set hit back down on the table, his gaze never leaving her sleeping face. Wondering why he hadn't punished her downstairs instead of carrying her like some damn princess up to his room.

At first, he had watched from the outside circle. Planning on interrupting, no matter how forcefully, should she over step the boundaries of heathenry. But when that woman started dancing. When her waist, hips, and beautifully sculpted legs began to move, Jafar found himself hypnotized.

The way the Egyptian cotton dress moved with her body, her slender curves rising and falling. In that light, in that dress, he could see every strand of her muscles. The perfect firm swell of her breasts, and her small navel in the center of her sculpted belly. She as if a string held up the middle of her spine, while her waist rolled independently in controlled, sensual waves. Controlling her audience as they watched mouths agape. Controlling him. He was the snake and she his charmer, and all he wanted to do was kneel before her and beg for one drop of her essence.

Only when she moved faster someone had whistled, and Cruella shouted profanity, snagging Jafar from the trance. Men were drooling over _his_ wife, and other women looked either jealous or equally entranced like the men. He all but lost his damn mind when Jasmine then proceeded to take another swig of wine. He had, had enough of her putrid antics and shoved the crowd apart, marching towards to rip the drink from her hand; shoving it behind him at the chest of some random idiot.

"Mm –."

Jafar stirred from his thoughts by Jasmine's moaning. She sat up like a corpse rising from an autopsy table. Stiff. Disorientated. Swaying a little to the right and then the left and back again. Her eyes were half closed, but he could see her long lashes lifting tiredly, when her head turned slowly in his direction. His blood ran cold at her blank stare, and Jafar froze, dropping his face to try and hide how she affected him. Trying to take back the control she had taken from him when she danced.

But Jasmine turned away again, looking forward as if she hadn't even noticed him standing there. Instead of just climbing out of the side, where it clearly would have been much simpler and less clumsy, Jasmine scooted her rear across the bed to climb awkwardly from the foot of it. She stumbled when her feet touched the ground, and reached out around for nothing; desperately trying to steady herself as she went towards the exit.

"Where do you think, you're going," Jafar called like a disembodied voice from somewhere in the room.

Jasmine couldn't pinpoint who or what had spoken. It was difficult to make out where she even was at this point. All she knew was that she wanted more wine, and to be with her friends' downstairs, dancing.

Trying to be serious failed, once the words passed her lips, as she giggled, "I'm thirsty …"

Jasmine reached for the door when the deep low rumble came again.

"Get back in bed, mouse."

Her head spun, and she nearly toppled over when she clutched onto the door handle for support, turning to look through blurred vision at the room. The walls were a deep shade of red and the floor a shiny black marble. There were flames from somewhere and they flicked off the floor and cast shadows among the ominous rom. And a tall figure in the distance stood fully clothed in red. Now it was all clear.

She was in hell.

_Damnit._ The first time she had decided to get sloshed, she'd drunk enough to stop her heart. Now she was among the dead – trapped in hell no less.

"Well That's. Just. Great." Answering herself aloud, Jasmine slurred, raising her palms in the air before letting them drop dead weighted.

Jasmine resumed her mission to find more red honey and dance for eternity. She loved to dance. Someone called her name, telling her to stop, when she had again clutched the door handle. Her eyes opened, as much as possible given her condition, and she looked the door up and down.

_Are you talking to me?_ Jasmine didn't know if she said it or thought it, but stabbed a finger at the inanimate object, "Ay…I'm going. And that's final. So... I'm, I'm – leaving."

"Is, that, right?" She heard the door reply in a low drawn out tone, though now it sounded like it came from behind her.

"Mm hmm –." She gave a childlike noise and a head bob that made her stumble where she stood, clutching the handle with both hands to keep herself up. "And I'm gonna daaance …" Jasmine broke into a girlish smile, her head hanging forward as she stuck out her hips beginning to move to the melody in her head.

As she leaned back further, the door gave way, as the handle clicked, and pulled open; then was instantly slammed shut by a large hand splayed above Jasmine's head. Jasmine didn't seem to notice though and kept moving her hips, dipping her back, lost in her own melody and drunken bliss. Jafar placed another hand on the door, bringing himself to loom over her small frame.

He didn't recognize his own voice as it came out, husky and full of lust, "_Jasmine_," Her name made him shaky in the knees and any anger he had in the beginning diminished, replaced with weakness, "Jasmine, get back in bed."

Her backside met at his groined, earning a sharp inhale from him as she began slowly circling her buttocks around his growing organ. Jasmine grinned vividly, not caring who was behind her, only that she had a dance partner and was free to move her body anyway she pleased. It felt good, her tingling skin creating friction as she applied pressure to the sturdy man behind her.

Jafar closed his eyes, and pressed deeper against the door, trying to expel the powerful lust through the palms of his hands so that he could think clearly. But it didn't help, and Jasmine dipped lower to the ground, coming back up slowly, sliding her ass against him; climbing up from his knees, over his thighs and pressing delicately onto his erection. And Jafar gasped, feeling the tip of his sex moisten from his own arousal.

She was absolutely sloshed and out of her mind. He did see her talking to a door after all, and so he allowed himself a moment to bask in her. Inviting her captivating power to control him for the second time tonight. What was more, was that she enjoyed this just as much, and never before did he think she would ever smile while touching him. So, in this moment, he would allow himself to be weak and vulnerable. Jasmine wouldn't probably remember this tomorrow anyway.

"I'm married… ya know," his little drunk wife was barely audible, mumbling each word, giving a hiccup in between her sentence.

_Really now my pet? It would be a little too late to tell a man you're seducing that you're married. _Jafar chided looking down on her succulent body. Her full breasts hung slightly from this position, and her waist cut in before surging out into spectacular curved hips. Just like an hourglass. Counting down his time with her with each passing day.

"You don't act like you're married, little one," Although she wasn't really little anymore. She had gone and grown into a strong woman in the blink of an eye, "Where is your husband, Jasmine?"

_And you better give me an answer I like, girl._

Jasmine scrunched her face, finding it difficult to focus on dancing, speaking, and thinking, all at once. Her head swam and she slowed her hips, trying to remember what had happened to Jafar.

"Ja…far," Jasmine tested out the name in a groggy whisper, hating how it felt in her mouth. Jafar would kill her is he seen her dancing, and drinking. She remembered his threat that if another man ever touched her he'd, more or less, kill them both and use their body parts as for morbid amusement.

Raising her head slightly, she spoke against the door, her own breath warm and smelling like booze, "My _husband_," she drawled out the title and it tasted like vinegar, "Hates. Me."

Jafar stilled, coming off of the door, and bringing his largs hands to the sides of her hips and Jasmine giggled, her head falling again to face the floor. And the next thing she said made his gut twist.

"Jafar is going to kill me. So –," She gave a small snort, "It's a good thing I'm already dead."

The large brows on his face tucked down, "Jasmine…Where the hell do you think you are right now?"

Though she remained in her awkward pose hanging on the door, Jasmine looked over her shoulders slightly, staring at a spot on the floor, "You said it … Hell."

Her body jerked as she laughed again, finding everything funny. Even death.

Maybe she wasn't as strong as he had thought. Maybe he _did_ break her and her sanity along with it. It was possible Jasmine had been drinking because of him, because of what he'd done to her. And the slightest tang of guilt prodded at his calloused heart.

Giggling, Jasmine finally found some strength and tried to pull herself to stand straight, when the pressure at her hips tightened, and boney hands spread along her back, keeping her bent over. She didn't fight it, feeling like she could fall asleep right here, standing up. Then a breeze bit into her tan flesh: first around her calves, then the backs of her knees, and up and up; the evening gown sliding up gently, displaying her nakedness inch by inch.

The warmth of the room tickled her flesh, and the touch that followed after caused her skin to rise in tiny bumps. Jasmine moaned a little as her entire lower half was left exposed, the ends of her dress draping around her waist revealing the entirety of her buttocks and pink smooth lips.

The presence behind her closed in, and something whispered in her ear, "Dance for me, Jasmine," then backed away, leaving the space around her to feel empty.

She did want to dance. She loved to dance. And drink. She really liked to drink. There was probably cases more downstairs, and there the music would be loud and engulfing. The handle pulled again, and the door opened. Jasmine stepped out, hearing a grunt of irritation from behind her as she began to take a few steps into the hallway, her dress falling back down around her ankles. An arm darted out and draped around her belly, causing Jasmine to gag; the smallest pressure threatening to purge the contents of her overdosed stomach. Jasmine squirmed slightly, her face screwing into frustration when a shrill voice echoed around the large vestibule.

"Darling!"

Jafar pulled Jasmine in protectively whilst turning to face Cruella. God how he wished she'd just kill over. "Not now woman," He threatened through gritted teeth, but Cruella was too sloshed to notice.

"Cruella!" In a high pitchy voice, Jasmine sang out, her arms swinging up by her ears, nearly smacking Jafar in the face, "You're here too!" _Of course, she's in hell with me._

Jafar hissed, dodging Jasmine's carelessness, trying to keep a grip on her slack weight; all while Cruella huffed on a cigar and blew the nasty smoke in his face. This was _bullshit_! With just a look Jafar had perfected striking fear into _any_ creature. But all evening he kept losing control over each situation. No one cared how malignant or vile he was when they couldn't tell their left foot from their right. He hated drunks! And that hatred cleared the former foggy daze of lust. Maybe if he bashed Jasmine and Cruella's faces together they would snap out of it and cower before him.

Jasmine leaned back into Jafar's chest, and bent her arm to better cup the side of his face. Her delicate fingers traced the thick trimmed line of hair, from the top of his jaw, and down to his chin; her perfumed hair gathering under his nostrils.

"Look what I found," Jasmine smiled to Cruella, "We danced together. But … don't tell Jafar." Jasmine's bloodshot eyes glimmered childlike as she pursed her lips and placed the opposite hand at her mouth, making a Shh sound.

Cruella's tiny ankles wobbled from her high heels, and she spoke into her cup, "Why aren't you drinking darling, come downstairs. Everyone's waiting for the queen to dance again!"

Jasmine's leaned forward and out towards the boney woman, "No!?" Clearly astonished her eyes widened, "They want _me_ to dance for 'em?" Jasmine made a weird squeaking noise as her mouth hung open in a smile.

Jafar rolled his eyes, tightening his arms around her midsection, sure that if he let her go, Jasmine would fall flat on her face and be knocked out cold. A tempting idea.

"Yes. Come darling, come, come. Jafar let her go. She's something everyone wants to see!"

Cruella threw back her glass of gin, and began to stroll ahead, stumbling when she came to the top step of the staircase, Jafar wishing the damned woman would tumble. But when she hadn't and kept strolling, by sheer luck, unharmed down the steps, Jafar groaned; thankful that at least one lush was out of the way.

Jasmine tried following after, but found herself stepping in place instead. Her brows tucked and her nose scrunched, not understanding why her legs wouldn't go. Jasmine's head fell over, looking down at the contraption that kept her steady and her hands flung to it, trying to remove it from her.

"What is this sorcery?" Jasmine slurred, fingers too numb to get a grip on the damned thing. Accepting defeat, her upper half dropped towards the floor and the palm of her hands landed against the cool ground, as she tried crawling away.

"Damnit, woman!" Jafar took an arm from her stomach and put it around her chest, pulling her up off the floor as she tried walking on her hands, "You're trying my patience, little girl! This is _bullshit_!" He _really_ hated drunks.

Jasmine kept trying to walk away from him, and he growled, unloading several curse words, finally bending at the knees Jafar picked up Jasmine and tossed her over his shoulder. Jasmine made a "Woo," sound and he smacked her ass as hard as he could, making her moan softly, before giggling again.

Back inside his chambers, Jafar kicked the door closed behind him, stalking towards the bed still muttering under his breath. He threw Jasmine down carelessly, half hoping it would hurt her; but she bounced once and started smiling again.

_Blasted woman. She's relentless._

Jasmine licked her lips wiggling on the silk blankets under her, eyes closed tiredly, as she squirmed to get comfortable. She peeked from lengthy lashes, seeing a dark man at her feet, and he looked rather handsome. He was dressed in red, and strong, and so, so, blurry. Her knee was propped up and fell to the side, legs parting as if in subconscious submission. Her clothes were itchy and she wanted out of them, to be naked in the dark smooth sheets, and she hiked up her dress clumsily.

Jafar watched as Jasmine bit her lip, and her legs fell open. He couldn't resist any longer. He helped her out of the dress, pulling it over her head, freeing every ounce of her mesmerizing body, as she offered herself to him like a sacrifice. Jasmine moaned into his mouth and his cock twitched, straining under the tightening pants as he traced his tongue over her neck, down to her collarbone and around her soft tits. Then he rubbed the pad of his thumb against her clit, sliding one finger in and out of her tight folds as he kissed the jut of her hipbone. She tasted so fucking delicious, and Jafar left little bites marks along the flawless skin, inhaling her, as he worked his mouth over her navel and down to the trimmed soft hair of her womanhood. He nuzzled the silky curls, inhaling their musky scent. He wanted her for eternity. Needed every drop of her. Desired to lap up her sweet fluid as she came around his digit; when she moaned, "Mm – Aladdin**."**

"Fuck," Jafar snapped from the fantasy panting in deep disturbed breaths as he focused in on the sleeping girl. Fully clothed. Sound asleep. Had she actually said Aladdin's name in her sleep? Or was that too all in his mind? It would figure. Even in his darkest imagination Jasmine still didn't want him – would choose that urchin over him. Allah, how he wanted to do those things to her. Had wanted to rip that blue dress off and discover every trace of pleasure she had to offer him. But he remained frozen at the foot of the bed, chewing on his lip until there was blood on his tongue. Forcing himself to be distracted with anything besides this overwhelming temptation. He'd wanted to caress her awake, kiss those soft lips and ravage the sweetness of her supple curves. He wanted all of her, all for himself.

Albeit, as easy as it would have been to take advantage of a drunken girl, he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was his right, technically, to do whatever he damn well pleased. Jasmine was his wife now, and there was no need to show restraint. However, something deeply seeded in him protested against it. A part of him, that he'd abandoned a lifetime ago, now reared its intrusive head, forbidding Jafar to act on lustful selfish instincts.

He growled at himself, trying to force quiet his conscience – it usually worked in the past – but this time decency won out, and Jafar stomped away with an awkward boner between his thighs. The cobra staff was in a far corner and Jafar went to it, greeting it like an old friend. He'd not had it since before the wedding, and missed his companion. At least with this he felt slightly more dominant and powerful, but not by much. He pulled the dark familiar robes from a drawer, draping them over his arm, and left the room quietly. Taking skeleton keys from his waistband, Jafar locked the door from the outside, keeping Jasmine in, and any wondering guests out, and would release her first thing in the morning. Luckily, he avoided any more interruptions while making his way to the private tower, locking himself inside so he could finally be alone, and have some fucking quiet, as he slept.


	14. Chapter 14: Snake's Den

The sun rose high on October of 1701 and Agrabah, though still hot, had cooled with the crisp breeze of fall. Noblemen of Austria and England, along with Agrabah's Sultan, sat outside under the morning sky at a rounded table. Chattering sounded from the group while songbirds sang from the bird bath, a few feet from the beautifully decorated patio.

Cruella rubbed at her temples, and Tobias looked half asleep at the table; the two having had way too much to drink the night before and blackout sex, of which neither hardly remembered. But they felt the aftermath of it now. And weren't very good conversationalists at the moment.

Which Elijah and Henrietta made up for, talking away with Jafar, making light conversation and idle chatter. Ettie, kept a flirtatious eye out for Jafar, enjoying her time with him to herself the past fifteen minutes. Then, to her dismay, the Queen appeared through the white bricked archway, dressed in a beautiful gold and turquoise long-sleeved dress; tresses falling loosely over her breasts with a gilded headband that held back her hair, revealing glowing skin. And Ettie steamed with envy, watching how Jafar's mouth fell open upon seeing his young wife, too distracted to even finish taking his bite.

"Jasmine! Come sit darling –." Cruella lifted her head too fast though, and nearly hurled, shouting out for a servant to bring her a blasted glass of gin.

"More booze?" Jasmine said, ignoring the chair that was next to Jafar, coming to sit by her friend instead.

"The hair of the dog, darling."

A deep throat cleared, and Jasmine paused pulling out the seat. Her husband gave a silent threat that said she better get her ass back where it belonged – next to him. Jafar patted the rim of the decorated chair, and Jasmine gave a fake smile; which he returned tenfold.

"Of course, _dear_," Jasmine said in a sticky sweet tone, fighting to keep her eyes from rolling, then took place at his right side.

"I trust you slept well, my love," Jafar took Jasmine's hand and kissed the back of it, then brought it under the table to crush it; the death grip making her knuckles pop.

Jasmine grit her teeth, whispering "Ow," before he let her pull away. Privately, Jasmine rubbed away the injury still keeping a smile to her guests; that's when she noticed Ettie across the way. Of course, she hadn't left yet, Jafar probably asked the witch to move in. The English woman of course looked nice and well put together, and Jasmine was elated she'd made the choice herself to come to breakfast presentable – No matter how ill Jasmine felt from last night's indulgence. This wasn't a competition of course, Jasmine could care less who Jafar found prettier; but it was the principal of the matter that counted.

"Where are your usual robes, you look… different." Jasmine asked the dark man, wanting to keep any silence from forming. All his customary garments were gone, now wearing an all-black thobe with gold linings on it, black harem pants, and a wrapped turban to match, with a gold feather in the center.

"I'm the Sultan now, my wife. I should dress like one." He declared taking some cheese from the center, then looked to her with a smirk, amused that she was checking him out as much as he was her, "Do you have a problem with that, my Queen?"

Why did he have to add 'my' to the beginning of each title he gave her. She belonged to no one. Certificate or not.

Jasmine shrugged a shoulder, smiling sugary sweet then fell silent, unsure what else to say, and more than anything feeling sick to her stomach from too much drink.

"Well I think you look extremely handsome my liege," Ettie piped in. Then her and Elijah carried on with Jafar in conversation, as Jasmine lost interest, now fascinated with Cruella's steel gut; the boney woman throwing back more gin.

Hair of the dog huh? Jasmine reached for an empty glass, and held it up for a servant to fill with wine. But before it touched her lips, Jafar's massive hand had covered the top, forcing her to set it down. It was beyond difficult to not throw it in his face as Jasmine looked up in horror. But he remained blank, handing her a glass of water instead. They shared a heated look, and Jasmine could hear his voice in her head saying, 'go ahead I dare you to test me little girl.'

_Whatever._ Jasmine rolled her eyes then complied by taking the damn water, which made the corners of Jafar's mouth tick with enjoyment.

_Asshole. You're not my father. _But Jasmine drank it down quickly anyway, not realizing how parched she'd been, then took down another glass, feeling a little more like herself.

Ettie never took her eyes off the pair, and decided it best to make her own mark in this relationship. To let this, Jasmine woman, know that Jafar was _hers_ first, and always would be. "So, how did you two end up getting together, your highness," the question was directed to Jafar, but Jasmine scoffed answering for her husband.

"Trust me, it's a long story…"

"Mm?" Ettie swallowed her wine, and cut into bread, "Jafar and I have a _long_ story of our own too, don't we?"

He paused looking up from his plate. Although Ettie took his glare into consideration, she went on, smiling and speaking in a manner of feigned politeness to Jasmine.

"Why I was just a girl when Jafar came to England to meet with my father," She touched Elijah's arm.

"Elijah is your father?" Jasmine inquired reaching for the wine again, but Jafar took it before Jasmine could lift it to her mouth, placing it far from her reach as if she were a naughty child.

"Mm- Hmm. Daddy and Jafar go way back. They had a falling out for a while, but since Sultan Hamed stepped down, things are back to normal, almost like the good old days."

Jafar over chewed his food, finding difficulty to swallow, too focused on envisioning ripping out Ettie's tongue to make her shut the hell up.

The blonde was pleased with herself at the look Jasmine gave, and wanted to keep going, "But back then Jafar had hair."

"No shit!?" Cruella suddenly came to life, startling everyone.

"Yes," Henrietta looked to Jafar with a flirtatious smile, "It was thick, and long, and so, so soft. I just miss it. You should stop shaving your head, you know. "

_Go. Fuck. Yourself. Bitch._ Jasmine hummed inside her head.

She never knew Jafar had hair, didn't even know he was bald, but expected as much with all the layers he always wore. She'd shave her head too if she was slugging around in those monumental robes and cape.

Still, Jasmine didn't want to hear about Ettie's past with him…or how the slut knew Jafar's hair was soft…

"My, my, Jafar. That would give a girl something to grab onto during a crazy ride," Cruella winked at Jasmine.

Jasmine's eyes darted to the drunk. _Seriously?_ Cruella just answered Jasmine's question, instilling a vision of Ettie riding Jafar's cock as she pulled his hair. That was enough to make her sick for a week, and Jasmine pushed away her food.

"Perhaps we can move on to less _distasteful_ topics," Jafar said waving his knife in Ettie's direction. She shrugged lightly, and Elijah seconded that notion.

The conversation went on boringly, as Jasmine stole some of Cruella's gin, feeling more defiant than ever, while her over controlling husband was too lost in conversation with his lover to notice her antics. It wasn't until the discussion of gutter rats and prostitutes arose, that the Queen found herself tuned in.

"Whores are people too..." Jasmine said softly, and Jafar's smile faded, turning now to his otherwise silent wife.

"Well of course…" Ettie laughed, looking around the table for support, "I never said they weren't _people_."

"Oh, then, forgive my misunderstanding…"

Ettie slyly mocked, "How on earth did you gather that from what I said, your highness?"

"I read between the lines." Jasmine said coldly, and refused to look away from the stupid blonde woman.

Elijah interrupted the threatening stare Jasmine was giving his daughter, "Well of course they're _humans_, of sort… Just a lesser species than those around this table." Elijah chuckled in his thick accent, stabbing a finger atop the granite.

"That's debatable," Jasmine mumbled but it was heard by all.

"My Queen, I don't mean to disrespect your opinion; however, these street rats, and whores, have less value than that of a mule's. They chose their paths."

Jasmine scoffed, looking over at Elijah. "And those children that are left in the streets. I suppose they chose their destiny simply by being _born_?"

"A consequence of their parent's sin's my Queen. We all atone for our decisions in some form or another."

"Those _people_, don't _choose_ to starve to death. They don't choose to be raped, beaten, have unclean water, or fall ill because they live with rodents. In most cases, _stealing_ isn't even a _choice_, but rather a means of survival. And as far as those whores, they didn't grow up wanting to endure a filthy bed. It was something forced upon them."

Cruella nodded in approval, but jasmine wasn't sure her vote counted seeing she could barely sit upright.

"Stealing is a sin, Queen Jasmine, as is whoring. Those that are wicked, deserve the wicked ways of the world, and no sympathy whatsoever."

Jasmine's voice rose higher, feeling herself becoming worked up, "So _you're_ perfect, Mr. …"

"Kingsley. And of course, not."

"Jasmine nodded, biting her lip, "You know, it could just as easily be you in the gutters. And it could just as easily be me in that whorehouse, right now. Instead of here on this terrace."

Jafar flinched, remembering her sprawled out for Dracul; it would forever be engrained in the back of his head, and he felt his breakfast coming back up at the reminder.

"But you're not, my highness. You're here because you were worthy of your bloodline."

"I am worthy of _nothing_!" Jasmine shouted, and everyone's face dropped; except Jafar's, who was quickly becoming more and more intrigued by where this was going.

"It _could_ be me down there, and it could easily be your daughter down there too Mr. Kingsley, had life not been so fortunate for you and yours."

Jafar rested his chin in the crook of an 'L' shape his left hand made, the extra fingers sprawled on the side of his face articulately. Maybe it was the way the light hit her eyes, making them a golden brown to match her form fitting dress. Whatever it was, Jafar was enamored with Jasmine – something about her seeming different. Older, wiser… _sexier_.

"Would you then, consider Henrietta of lesser value? Marred by misfortune, and unworthy of sympathy or compassion?"

The man looked in defense around the table, all eyes on him waiting for his answer, "Well of course not," he huffed, the tip of a cob pipe slipping under tight lips.

"Then how can you speak that way about those that cannot help themselves, that have no voice because no one will allow them one?"

"It's easy to conjure up an illusion about these mongrels as heroes in disguise. But reality and history have proven otherwise. You're young your highness, you'll see one day we're right."

"What's _easy_, Mr. Kingsley, is judging a group of people at a distance, while you sit on your backside, inhaling my cheese and sweet wine. It's unfortunate that you have slipped into a state of idle complacency. That you are blinded to the _true_ reality of life outside your circle."

Elijah popped the object from his mouth, feeling more than irate now with the little woman, "Everything I have, I earned; and I have done _whatever_ necessary to have it. And will _do_ whatever must be done to keep it that way."

"And the majority will _continue_ to have nothing; becoming poorer and sicker, because people like you are doused with unquenchable greed."

"Survival of the fittest, my dear," Elijah raised a glass, and Jasmine scowled, breathing deep and slow to calm her nerves.

She should drop it, and everyone else seemed to want to do the same. Except for Jafar; who kept his eye on her, waiting patiently as if knowing she was fuming inside.

He was right of course, and Jasmine's water glass hit the table, "Instead of damning those who are of 'Lesser value,', why not help give them value. Show them a different way, an option to change what they were told could never be changed."

"Some don't want to be pulled from the mud, your majesty. No matter how good your intentions." Ettie said.

"So, we forsake the masses because of the few?"

Jafar stirred, sitting upright, removing his elbow from the table, "What would you suggest then, my Queen? How would you fix, or ease, the issues of the ever-growing populace of street rats and thugs?"

Jasmine searched his straight face, but saw no hint of sarcasm or malice. Which she appreciated, but then became suddenly aware that everyone was waiting for her brilliant plan to fix the socio-economic inequality.

Damnit. She hadn't gotten that far. The most she'd ever though it out was her and Tahira getting a café or safe home for women and children. Her mind was working overtime, and all scrutinizing gazes made it that much harder to think. Now she wondered if Jafar had set her up to fail and look stupid in front of his colleagues. (And ex-lover.)

"Education," was the first thing that came out, but she regretted the choice not knowing what that would do. She herself barely had an education, only knowing to read and write. But nothing like that of well educated women in the west, or even Jafar who knew everything from science to play writing.

Elijah's whiskers puckered, "Ha, and do what? Make them stop working so they can learn their letters? How in God's name will that solve anything?"

Some others laughed, except for Cruella who was lost in her glass, and Jafar narrowed his eyes, at Elijah. If anyone was going to hurt Jasmine's feelings, it was him. Not a mustached asshole with a mouthy daughter.

"We build a library." Jasmine said cheerfully, and Jafar turned back to her in surprise.

"A library?"

"Yes… or you know… a place for scholarly works. A large enough structure than can hold some classrooms, discussions, teachings, literature from all over the world. There are literate folks in the streets, I know, I've met them. It could help create more jobs, as well as give the people a sense of accomplishment, self-worth, and most importantly, equality."

Her heart was pounding quickly, getting excited, "And I've wanted to build an orphanage, or safe home for women, and children only. Where they can come on hard times," Jasmine turned speaking only to Jafar, "And we can make a coffeehouse, like ummah did in the brothel, only this time we won't have it in a whorehouse. But a place that serves food, and welcomes families for community and fellowship with one another."

"Did she say whorehouse?" Tobias whispered to Cruella, who shrugged.

"Plus!" Jasmine yelped, and Jafar jolted a little at her sudden enthusiasm, "we would need workers to build these buildings, which provides more jobs. More stability. And More hope. Also, we should get another ship."

"A ship?" Jafar watched her, trying not to smile at the beautiful glimmer in her wide eyes. He would never understand this woman.

"Mm-hmm. Expand our trading route west, and more trade, more ships, means more jobs, and again –."

"More hope," Cruella chimed in, and Jasmine smiled clapping her hands.

"There," Jasmine said smiling to herself, then calmed to take the first breath since she'd started speaking.

"Well aren't you just damn adorable," Tobias said gruffly with a dimpled smile.

Adorable? No! She wanted to be taken seriously… _Oy Vey_.

A servant came just then, placing steamed goat and laffa on their plates, but Jasmine said no thank you to the man, calling him by name; to which all the group gave a look.

Ettie spoke for the masses, "You call your servants by name?" she laughed in that fake way Jasmine was learning to hate, "A queen who advocates for the unholy, and associates herself with slaves. How on earth will anyone fear you enough to respect you as a ruler?"

Jasmine thought several curse words, and comebacks, and even imagined breaking a bottle over her head. But instead, decided to killed her with kindness and smiled sweetly touching Jafar's strong shoulder.

"I think I will leave the oppression and fear-striking, to my husband, no one can do it near as good as he can," she looked to him with a grin, and much to her surprise, Jafar laughed at her comment. He really was so handsome when wearing a genuine smile like that. If only he would allow himself to do it more often.

Cruella and Tobias laughed too, and Ettie looked away with resentment.

"Like the carrot and stick," Tobias said, "A perfect combination I believe."

Jafar's hand slid over Jasmine's thigh, smoothing the soft fabric with his thumb and she gulped, captures by his coffee eyes.

"Perfect, is right."

_Oh god_, Jasmine caught her breath. Was he hitting on her? In front of everyone? He needed to make up his damn crazy mind. Between the brutal sexual encounter after the wedding and this flirty supportive mannerism, he was giving her whiplash.

Ettie scowled watching their transaction, while her father gave up the fight and took down his wine, remaining quiet the rest of breakfast.

* * *

Jasmine had excused herself from the table, feeling unwell still and headed inside alone. Since Jafar's chambers were now technically _theirs_, she should go in there to lie down. But, Jasmine thought better of it. There was always her old room; albeit, it held too many memories of abandoned dreams. So instead, Jasmine walked a few doors down and into a boudoir. The space was merely a sitting room, with a basin of water on a table, a lounge chair, and a mirror. She had rarely come in here before, finding it scary to be alone in a space so much smaller than her room. But now the close quarters felt nice and secure; and quiet most importantly. Jafar had his tower – Jasmine deserved a space of solace too.

The water was cold, but felt amazing on her flushed skin, hands scooping up the liquid from the washbowl to cover her face. It was easier to hide illness when trying to save face around everyone, but it had caught up in the form of a splitting headache and over turned tummy. Now Jasmine wished she'd eaten some food after all. Maybe that could've calmed her stomach. Droplets fell from her face, as she watched herself in the above mirror; then took a cloth to dry her face, patting the soft skin in thought; when the door opened in the reflection, and Jafar came in.

Slowly setting down the towelette, jasmine kept his stare through the oval glass.

"You caused…quit the argument this morning, little wife. It was _almost_ as entertaining as your little stunt last night." Jafar undid his thobe, placing it neatly over the chair, leaving him casually in all black.

Jasmine assumed he preferred to be comfortable when strangling his victims, and rolled her eyes at the notion.

"It's no shock you're angry with me for getting drunk and standing up for what I believe in, but can we save the beating for later… I'm not well today." She spoke rather quickly, looking down into the water. Wanting him to just go away. He hated her, she knew that. And she hated him too. But there was no need to keep torturing each other, shouldn't they take a rest day once in a blue moon?

"Maybe you'll rethink your drunken antics next time then, yes?" the sudden warmth of his breath made her jolt. She hadn't even heard him walking toward and the unannounced presence made her tremble.

"If you're going to punish me…just get it over with." She couldn't remember everything last night, only that she probably acted a fool, and Jafar had waited all morning to kill her. He just needed her to feel safe with him before ripping it away again. Like now.

Jafar breathed a laugh stepping closer so his strong chest pressed into her back, "I think you've punished yourself, far better than I ever could."

Her head throbbed and she winced, "Somehow… I doubt that… Look, if you're expecting me to apologize for my behavior – I won't," the last words came out in a shaky whisper, Jafar's hands unexpectedly sliding over her flat stomach, compelling Jasmine to grip the basin table to steady herself.

His nostrils dug into her hair, eyes closing as Jafar breathed in heavily. Jasmine continued spying through the mirror; his lips pressed to the side of her head, drinking her in as his grip moved lower and lower. Jasmine's eyes fluttering as her husband spoke with intensity and unholy desire.

"Do you remember how you danced, Jasmine?"

Large tips of his fingers grazed her womanhood, before spreading over to either thigh, making Jasmine audibly gasp.

"Do you remember how you raped me… and tried to make me suck on a decapitated hand?"

Jasmine's eyes rose boldly, meeting the threatening gaze she knew would be there. Her knuckles whitened on the table in front of them, Jafar's cheekbones pressed against her temple as they froze in another standoff.

This time, however, Jasmine was certain not to lose, speaking to him in their reflection. "What makes you think, I would ever seek your company, Jafar? That I would ever, _want_ you to touch me again?"

The sound of his teeth gritting made her cringe, and she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

"Let go, of me," her body trembled, trying to pry his hands and failing. "You fucking snake! Stop it!" She spat and he smiled wickedly.

"Mm –I've only just begun."

Jasmine screamed as he covered her mouth, hands scratching at the massive paw while he dug another claw into her warmth, fingering Jasmine through the dress. The silk coated with her juices as he rubbed her clit and massaged tight lips with skillful fingers, until screams turned into whimpering moans. When it felt safe, his right hand fell from her mouth, and around her beautiful neck.

"Please, stop." Jasmine pleaded through confused tears, struggling to get away from the fingers that hooked against her heated center. But instead of letting go, Jafar clutched the muscles of her neck firmly, then moved down over her collarbone and to her left breast, kneading it skillfully, plucking at the hardening nipple until it peaked perfectly. Jasmine squirmed to break free, then yelped, paralyzed with tingling sensations as Jafar bit into her flesh, then sucked at the smarted skin; Jasmine instinctively leaned so he had better access to her neck.

"I have no intention of stopping, pussy cat. I've waited too long to have you."

Jasmine moaned louder this time, tossing her head back at the delicious feeling he pulled from her.

"Too long to make you _mine_…" he vibrated against her ear.

They were married. He had taken her freedom, her home, and her virtue. Wasn't that enough for him? "You already made me yours, Jafar," Jasmine whimpered, trembling violently, "what else could you possibly want?"

He spoke ravenously against her, "**_Everything_**."

"Aagh!" Jasmine hollered when Jafar spun her violently, then dragged Jasmine by the arm until they were in his bed chambers. He slammed the door behind them, then claimed her mouth possessively; licking, biting, teasing, pulling and pushing as he cupped the sides of her face. Jasmine froze for a moment, but came to life, testing the limits as she sucked on his tongue, and gripped his tight ass, forcing his hard member to press onto her belly.

"I hate you…" Jasmine managed before he kissed her deeper, drowning out her complaints, "I hate you… Mm… and I'll never trust you," her body betrayed her heart, moaning into Jafar's sweet mouth, drowning under his warmth, and the passionate way his fingers twisted in her hair and down over her body; strong hands fondling every curve and crevice. Greedily, pulling at her dress.

He was a short of breath, unable to focus on her anger. "I fail to see the issue, _love_," His large teeth smiled against her lips before falling back into a greedy kiss, and Jasmine groaned, hating how out of control she became when he did this to her. How one touch could melt her, and one taste of his sinfully wicked mouth made her wet with want. So much chaos, so much hurt, yet irrefutable desire.

"But… they're expecting us to come back," she tried to reason but was cut short when Jafar grabbed her wrist, and forced her to cup his erection. "Jafar –," Jasmine eyes widened as she whimpered his name. She'd never touched a penis before and was downright terrified.

He guided her, showing Jasmine how to fondle himself. She tried to obey, not wanting to look stupid at her inexperience, but nonetheless, took it clumsily through the fabric; panicking with mixed fear and arousal.

"They're expecting _no one_, I have you all to myself. And you have me…" he resounded to the meager excuses, and let go of his grip, allowing Jasmine to explore his rock-hard erection while groping her pert ass. She gulped, trembling while slowly stroking the impressive length.

"You need to stop being nervous," he pulled her lip free, Jasmine unaware she had even been biting it. Her hand paused at the base, holding Jafar's stare as she held his cock; then climbed up his member until she felt a large tip, the shape of a mushroom cap.

Jasmine peered through long lashes, waiting for him to instruct her, but he remained deadpan, wanting her to do this herself. To take him in her hand like he knew she wanted to.

Against better judgement, Jasmine's tongue darted out, leaving a glossy sheen of pouty lips. Using two fingers to reach the brim of his pants, Jasmine dipped inside, and pulled the black fabric down, just enough, so his cock sprang forward. The woman's heart leapt and her pussy literally tightened in anticipation at the unexpected sight. It was odd, so much different than she'd expected a man's sex to look like; but she liked it, hungrily eager to claim it.

It overflowed in her hand, fingers unable to fully wrap around the shaft as she attempted to get a grip on it. Then, when she felt confident enough, began jerking his cock. Silky smooth skin glided over thick veins as she tugged back and forth. Never looking way from her new toy, infatuated by its masterful design. The head was thick with a blushing pink and the tiny hole in its center wept pre-cum, enticing Jasmine to lick it clean.

"Afraid of a big dick, my wife?"

_On the contrary, I want to ride it and fuck you stupid,_ Jasmine thought, but replied, "Why should I be? I've dealt with you all my life."

He blinked undeterred by the predictable remark, and Jasmine squeezed him hard with angst, earning a hissing grunt of approval as his features twisted in painful delight. Mm – finally she had him in her control, cock out, completely at the mercy of her grip. It felt strangely powerful seeing him this vulnerable; not to mention the swell of his member felt so damn delicious. She'd been repulsed at the thought of him inside her after he'd been so cruel. But now, she wanted this glorious rod to fill each of her holes. Starting with her mouth. Jasmine worked him harder, more assured as his eyes closed in bliss. Then, before she could back down, Jasmine fell to her knees and licked the weeping tip, leaving it glossy with her spit.

**_"Jasmine!"_** Jafar raggedly shouted, eyes shooting open to look down at her teasing stare.

But before he could try and pull away, her tongue darted out again, the flat slippery muscle lapping at his tip, and he trembled, nearly falling over at the sensation. He'd imagined Jasmine on her knees pleasuring him, but never planned on enacting it. (Unless it was to humiliate her.) That was usually something done only in a whore house, not by innocent young Queens.

"Jasmine… get up," he sounded heavily sedated, as if drugged by the toxin of his beautiful woman.

"Do you not like this?'

He didn't respond past scowling with confliction.

"Because … I like it –," her mouth formed and small O, and took the head of his cock into her warm mouth making him growl, on the verge of howling; then sucked in her cheeks, flicking her tongue over the smooth tip before releasing it with a dull pop, "I like how you taste, Jafar."

Jafar's nostrils flared, teeth showing, "Fuck… me…"

He was losing it, and that made her belly rise, "More than anything I love _controlling_ a ruthless sorcerer. Making you weak with just the flick of my tongue."

"You control **_nothing_**." He hissed, but it turned into a throaty roar once Jasmine took the tip in again. This time, scraping her teeth lightly over the sensitive skin before setting it free.

Without warning, Jafar grabbed her by the shoulders and yanked Jasmine up. She screamed when he lifted her, wrapping her thighs around him and then threw her back onto the darkly dressed bed. Jasmine whimpered with shock, and scooted back to the headboard as Jafar crawled in after her; the queen suddenly afraid of his animalistic aura.

Since last night – or rather since Jasmine had turned from a child into a stunning goddess – Jafar had envisioned fucking her, making her cum on his cock and writhe beneath him. Although torturing the shrew yesterday had been more than satisfying, he now wanted more, and found himself unable to control it any longer. Jafar dragged Jasmine back down a bit, then tore into the dress from its hem, up to the middle of her thighs, revealing the smooth pink lips at their apex; Jasmine screeched, throwing fists while commanding him to back the fuck off. However, her anguish bounced off him like rubber. Jafar knew no other way than to take what he wanted, _roughly_. He'd never made apologies for his ways in the past, and would make none now.

Jasmine smacked him in the face, again and again, until he was forced to let go of his work and pin her writs down with one hand. So, she kicked him, using her knees to jab at his back and sides. Why did he have to ruin everything!? Why couldn't he just love her, or at least _pretend_ to care. Was there no trace of sensuality in this monster? He made her feel dirty and –

Almond eyes shot open towards the blood red canopy, mouth falling slack when Jafar immobilized her legs with his weight, and began fondling her smooth slit with a boney finger. He was looking down on her, taking in every feature; committing to memory the way her breasts rose and fell, the shape her mouth made when she was aroused, and the little crease that formed in the middle of her brows when she was upset.

A firm digit dipped inside her sensitive entrance, then back out, pulling sticky juices from her pussy to spread them over her parted folds.

"You're so wet for me, Jasmine," he purred through uneven breaths.

"I – I am?"

He nodded, showed her his coated finger, then kissed his wife deeply, greedily perforating her lubricated cunt.

She _should_ fight him off. None of this was right and should not be enjoyed one bit. But she relished in it and found herself whimpering; half in anger, half in erotic bliss. The tight line in which she had set her mouth, betrayed her, to kiss him back. When she moaned, Jafar eased onto her more, a deep noise escaping his mouth that made her tingle all over. A second finger joined now, pumping deeper and deeper, as he watched her face for ques, slowing when she tensed then deepening as her mouth parted and back arched.

He was taking care of her, making her feel heavenly; and that part she hated. Detested how much control he continually kept over her. First with brutality and now with sexy foreplay. How shameful it was that she had fallen on the ground to lick his cock. She was dripping wet for him, and wanted to be fucked by him too. What the hell was wrong with her? Was she a sucker for agony and despair?

"Jafar, I don't want this." It wasn't a full truth. Still, Jasmine needed to know she had said _everything_ possible to keep this from happening, that it was out of her hands entirely. Maybe that would ease her guilt for enjoying it.

"No?" he growled, then thrust a third finger in making her scream out. He pumped her hard wanting to punish her for being an insolent brat, "I don't care what you _want_, pussy cat."

Her nails dug into his shoulders, "It _hurts_," She cried against his lips. After a few more rough thrusts, he slowed, figuring that was enough for now. Still fucking her with his hand, Jafar's thumb met with the swollen clit, beginning to move in rhythmic circles.

The second the pad of his thumb kissed her delicate nub, a deep sultry moan climbed from her throat and over her tongue. Jasmine's body torn between pain and unknown pleasure. She rocked onto his hand now, meeting each penetration.

"Mm – don't … stop," it escaped without her thinking, too caught up as her pussy leaked and the air grew dense; pressure building in unthinkable ways. This was beyond anything she'd ever imagined. All the times she'd pretended Jafar was fingering her – this is what she was missing out on!? All the wasted years! She had even done it to herself once or twice thinking of him – the second time while in the bathhouse. She had tried to envision Aladdin, but could only think of Jafar.

But _this_. Oh, Allah, this was a thousand times more fulfilling.

Jafar's breath hitched and he pressed harder against her, Jasmine pulling on his back, forcing him closer; wanting all of him. As they kissed again, Jasmine parted his soft mouth with her tongue inhaling softly as his beard tickled her dark skin. When she thought, he could surprise her no more, his fingers made a come-hither motion against a delicious spot, forcing her walls to clamp down on his hand, Jafar working her higher and higher. Her back arched, mind reeling as her eyes fluttered at the building pressure in her cunt.

"That's it Jasmine."

She still loathed him, still remained sickened by all he'd done. But in this moment, all she wanted to see was her _husband_. The man that she'd known all her life – that she had grown up loving, and now loved to hate. He was wicked and cold… yet so fucking heavenly. His voice shot electricity through her, while his scent enraptured her mind and heightened her senses; forcing out all rational until all she could see was him. She just wanted Jafar. To be loved in _some_ form, no matter how screwed up, after so much heartache and rejection. Fighting could wait until later.

"Let go, baby… _Cum_ for me Jasmine," he commanded against her mouth, and it sent her over the edge.

White light shot behind her eyes, as she dug deeper onto his fingers, convulsing from an earth-shattering orgasm, trembling from the top of her head to the soles of her feet; muscles tightening as her slick pussy quivered. Never in her life had she felt something so powerful and consuming, the muscles in her neck tightening, as her veins threatened to explode.

He removed himself before she came down form the high, and Jasmine closed her eyes, still seeing stars; then, opened sleepily when she heard him undress from the waist down, and appear back between her legs. Cock pulled free once more, Jafar pressed the swollen tip at her dripping hole. Taking himself in hand like a mighty hammer, Jafar guided the tip of his cock up and down the pink folds, butting against her clit so she gasped tossing her head back. Jafar flashed a grin, doing it once more, until finally pressing himself into her sensitive hole, slow and precise.

It stung like sandpaper against a raw wound, but she didn't fight him. Knowing eventually, she would have to get broken into it. Besides, if he could make her feel that good with just his hand, how much better would it be with that magnificent dick?

She rose her hips to meet him, and he slipped into the tight surrounding, both gasping as if the air had been stolen from their lungs, and Jafar had to stop for a moment, cock threatening to spill over from the tightness of her dripping sex. Then Jafar pumped, moving his hips to thrust in and out, fucking deep and slow, savoring every elicit noise from his queen.

They got into a rhythm, and it hurt much less, and Jasmine wanted more. Faster. "I'm not glass you know," she said mischievously, biting her lip in the way she knew drive him crazy.

By the look Jasmine gave next, Jafar knew his dark thoughts had emanated perfectly, and he leaned on his hands to hover over her. Then, pulling nearly all the way out, he barely left the tip of his cock inside her pleading cunt.

Jasmine moaned in protest and wiggled, wanting him back inside her. It made him chuckle throatily, then answer her silent pleas by slamming into her depths; the impact jolting Jasmine to the core as she screamed in pleasure. Then again, Jafar removed himself entirely, pulsating the tip until she was nearly crying, begging him to fill her once more.

When a tear spilled over her cheek, Jafar complied and this time rammed her with all his might, making her hit the headboard. Again, and again, he plunged into his wife, quickening until her legs fell open, shaky and weak while she clawed his back, screaming his name, and begging him to never stop. His breath turned ragged, and sweat formed on his brow, but he wanted more of her.

Jafar ripped the top of her dress, freeing large cinnamon mounds. Mouth watering at the way her tits bounced, glistening with sweat. It was euphoric, a sight befitting gods, as her screams turned into breathless gasps, Jasmine losing herself with every panicked drive of his cock. Cum built, the pressure turning unbearable as he felt Jasmine near her climax as well. All he needed to do was hold out for just. A few. More. – …

*knock, knock, knock*

When a rapping came at the door, the rulers of Agrabah froze, Jafar still buried in his wife. Then another came, louder than the first, and Jafar yelled hoarsely, "Who the fuck it it!?"

Jasmine snorted, catching her laughter at his frustration, and bit her lip smiling evilly. She wiggled on his cock and Jafar looked back down, wide-eyed and infuriated that she was teasing him, his sack aching from lack of release. He mouthed '**stop**,' but Jasmine wasn't much for taking orders.

"Jafar. It's me… Ettie. I'm sorry to bother you in your private chambers, but… we were waiting for you to come back. There was some news left to be discussed."

Jasmine gave Jafar an I-told-you-they-were-waiting, look, and Jafar bared teeth unamused. But she felt too playful to care, and dug crescent shaped lines into his lower back while wrapping her legs around him. Then, Jasmine took his wrists and slid his lengthy arms over her head, making him buckle and fall onto her chest, and deeper inside her; Jafar's anger weakened turning to a heavy, yet pleading groan.

"Can I come in, Jafar?" Ettie called after a moment of no response.

"N…No" Jafar broke away from Jasmine's mouth, fighting to keep composure; it was beyond impossible though with his minx of a wife controlling his every thought.

Jasmine rolled her pelvis up, then down again, coaxing him to move too, and fuck her back; then she consciously tightened her walls around him, pulling on his cock from inside, and his forehead fell onto the pillow, hissing in her ear. This was so fucking hot, and Jasmine knew how to get him. She bit his ear lobe, then whispered something forbidden, which ignited a fire in his belly.

"Alright… well, will you please come out soon. Father has some amazing news that I'm sure you will love, and it's rather important for –."

Ettie continued speaking at the door, but Jafar heard none of it. Now covering Jasmine's mouth to muffle her screams as he fucked her, cock reaching the depths of her anatomy, until her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her breathing choked; Jasmine unraveled with a blinding orgasm, as Jafar found release, and drained himself inside her womb, gushing his seed until he was sucked dry.

A few minutes passed, and Ettie spoke again, unable to hear anything when she pressed her ear to the door, "Jafar… are you okay in there?"

Ettie chewed her lip, then reached for the brass handle, but stumbled when it opened from the other side. Jafar stepped out, swiftly closing the door behind him so Ettie couldn't see in.

"I thought you were hurt… or ill perhaps, running off like that from breakfast." She smiled, and he looked her over pleasantly.

"I'm very well, Henrietta. I just had some umm, _loose_ ends to tie up." He looked over his shoulder to the closed door, wishing he could be inside with Jasmine still, "Shall we then?"

He politely held out a hand suggesting Ettie take the lead. And they walked side by side, Jafar's mind nowhere near focused on work. But on his wife, of whom he feared would burn him from the inside out, reducing him to ash. What was worse, was, he absolutely loved it.

* * *

That damn bastard had tied her to the bed!

"**Ugh**," Jasmine shook the headboard, trying to free her wrists, then screamed in frustration. "That fucker. Thinks he's clever with his puns. I swear to Allah I will humiliate you, _umph_," she tugged again, griping to herself, "And tie you up naked somewhere for all of Agrabah to see. Stupid, fucking male chauvinist pig –."

"Your majesty?"

A small voice echoed from the hall, and Jasmine recognized it as Mia, the girl that had come to her before the Aghd ceremony.

"Oh, Allah, yes. Mia, come in. Just… don't look at me when you do. Oo- sorry. I tried to warn you."

Mia turned bright red, eyes wide and on the floor as she stuttered. "How can I help you my lady."

Jasmine laughed, "Well, for starters you can cut these ropes and get me down. If it isn't too much trouble…"

Mia hurried, and pulled a small knife from her dress, then looked bashfully to the Queen, giving a shrug, "merely for protection my lady."

"Then you're a smart woman, Mia," Jasmine grinned, and pulled her right hand free, as Mia walked to the other side.

"Interesting morning your highness?"

Jasmine blushed, and Mia sucked in her lips to keep from laughing. She shouldn't have asked that.

"It's okay…yes…a very interesting morning indeed." Her left was cut free, and Jasmine pulled the sheet to her naked chest.

"I need a change of clothes; these ones are irreparably ruined... sadly enough."

"Well It can be sewed my queen. I can easily have it back to you in a day or two."

Jasmine hugged Mia, who stiffened with shock, then giggled at Jasmine's excitement. "Thank you my friend. I have one more favor to ask, Mia. Did you see the Sultan?"

"Y – Yes, he and Miss Kingsley went toward his private meeting room with Mr. Kingsley. They might be there a while?"

"Perfect!" Jasmine nearly yelled, then pulled on her shoes that had fallen off during the escapade with Jafar. "I have to leave the palace, and run a few errands."

Jasmine tossed the torn fabric from her body, and went to the wardrobe which held a few of her belongings. (The rest would be pulled over when they moved into the designated 'Sultan's chambers.' Papa then would be moved into a guest room.) There was a red and tan two-piece outfit, and Jasmine threw on the sleeveless crop top, and the tanned harem pants which had red patterning down the sides.

"But my Queen… leave the palace walls? What if Sultan gets mad? Or thugs rob you of your jewels," Mia whispered chasing after Jasmine as the two women went quickly down the hallway.

"I will wear no jewelry, and I'm not afraid of my husband."

Mia, grabbed Jasmine's hand lightly, "I'm afraid of him Queen Jasmine. He will punish me if he knows I let you go."

Jasmine lifted Mia's chin, "I won't let that happen Mia. You were never here with me. Understand? Now go to the kitchen and have yourself some breakfast. Tell Geraldine I said to fix you something nice."

Mia nodded, and took off quickly. No further interruptions happened, as Jasmine slipped outside, and two guards, Taka and Jamal, opened the gates for her, Jasmine greeting them by name and with a hug before stepping into the streets.

The conversation from this morning hadn't been the first-time Jasmine thought about her people, or the women she'd left behind. Time to face the music, and keep her promise to Tahira: that she would never forget her or leave her behind.


	15. Chapter 15: Tell Me

Although reluctant at First, the Queen of Agrabah allowed one of the guards, Jamal, to accompany her during the venture outside the palace walls. Jamal remained a slight distance away, but kept a hand on his sword at all times, watching leerily as they passed through the busy town square, then down the street towards the marketplace.

There were murmurs at first, a low buzzing around the way as Jasmine caught the attention of the Arabian people. It wasn't until a man ran out, shouting, that full attention had been drawn, to Agrabah's Queen Jasmine, calling everyone come to a standstill.

"Sultana! Sultana! Malakti! Malakti!"

A man in rags darted towards the Queen, Jamal drawing his sword in preparation, when the commoner fell at her feet; a dust cloud rising around the impoverished man. The guard sheathed his weapon, but remained cautious, as the peasant repeated into the dirt, Malakti – my queen – over and over. The young woman breathed raggedly, heart clenching upon the destitution before her. During the short time in the streets, Jasmine knew there were countless who endured hardships, but none of them had fallen at her feet like this before. They had seen her as one of them; not someone righteous. Jafar would love for someone to grovel at his feet, Elijah and Ettie might too. But she was not like the people in the palace. This made her uncomfortable to say the least. Still, being Queen meant keeping feelings in check, and remaining as decorous as possible. Or so she'd heard.

Jasmine turned to Jamal for some type of guidance, but he merely gave a nod, and she straightened looking back to the vagabond, "What is your name?"

"Qamamat, my Queen," Qamamat bowed deeper into the dirt.

Garbage. This poor man's name meant, garbage.

She tried not to let her voice break, "What is it you seek from your Queen?"

"Please, Malakti," he was violently trembling, remaining face down, "I am but an unworthy street rat, yet I plead to touch the hem of your clothing…"

The pit of her gut churned while looking over the arch of his back as he remained bowed, boney knees pressed under his chest, lanky fingers inches from her feet. The vertebrae of his spine tented under the tattered vest and aged skin tightly clung to his underfed belly, revealing each bone of his ribcage. He was balding with silver strands, which suggested, he might be in his fifties. What life had this man lived? This man called _trash_. The amount of strength he must possess to have survived this long, and come this far in a world that was so perilous, was unimaginable. He had more wisdom no doubt than she ever would, yet he groveled at _her_ feet. The feet of a naive girl, beseeching to touch the ends of her pants as if they endowed magical qualities of life.

"And tell me, Qamamat, what good would the touch of a simple piece of fabric do you?"

"You are a master most powerful. A charmer of beasts, and an enchantress, please. My wife is sick. My – children, starving. I beg to touch your heavenly cloths, in hopes that a drop of your essence may fall upon me, and bless my home."

Jasmine laughed lightly, "Is that what they're calling me?" Jasmine flashed a smile to Jamal and then to the man beneath her.

She was far from being a sorceress and the beast of which he spoke – Jafar as the snake monster – had been a rumor that gotten way out of hand from the beginning – started by the servants no doubt. Though he _was_ a beast in his own right, she could hardly call sleeping with Jafar _charming._

An audible gasp came from the large crowd as Jasmine knelt down and touched the man's hands, taking their calloused palms into her soft ones.

"I am a master of no man, Qamamat, nor an enchantress or deity. I cannot heal a man with my touch, nor can I save him. However, you may call me … the mother of this nation, an advocate for the weary, and a friend for the lost and afraid."

Jasmine looked to Jamal who seemed to understand instantly. The guard went to a nearby cart, and after a moment, returned with the entire amount of bread. Jamal then handed Jasmine three loaves as she held her hand out for them readily. Watery, desperate eyes met Jasmine's hesitantly as she raised Qamamat by the gruff of his chin; his bottom lip quivering at her loving, compassionate gaze. His heart all but gave out when she handed him the wrapped loaves of bread, and then slipped two gold coins secretly into his other hand, clutching the wiry fist with tenderness as she closed his fingers around the money.

One thing she had remembered this time to take, was a bit of money. She could pay Jafar back in other ways for it.

Then Jasmine rose and the beggar fell back on his face, thanking her as he wept with joy.

She knew it wouldn't be enough. That, that money would sustain his family only for a while, but hopefully it would be enough for now, until more work became available, and her plans for the commoners came to pass. Jasmine motioned for Jamal to hand out the rest of the bread as she spoke to the masses who all were now watching with adoration.

"And that goes for every one of you…Call me mother, advocate, and friend. For I will be one for my people as long as I shall live."

With that, the crowd parted, all bowing their heads when Jasmine went, a few reaching for her hand to kiss it, and thank her as she passed. The brothel was only a few buildings down, and Jasmine made it to the steps of the closed off brothel. Jamal caught up with her, insisting he come inside too, but Jasmine told him to stay outside and buy another cart of bread and barrels of fish and to distribute them. The bill would go to the palace of course, and she knew Jafar would be infuriated; but she didn't care none. If the Sultan had an issue with her kindness, he could take it up with her.

After knocking on the door, and receiving no response, Jasmine pushed hard on the wood, the creaking deafening as she stepped into the musty building, and the door closed behind.

* * *

Dust motes were the only movement in the forsaken room, their small shapes catching in the beams of light that spilled through boarded up windows. It was dank and Jasmine coughed, fanning the stuffy air. The whore house was extremely dim, so much that Jasmine bumped into an unseen, overturned table, gripping the edges to steady herself, as she swore under her breath from the throbbing of her leg. One week and the place had become apocalyptic of sorts.

"He – Hello?" she hesitated, "Tahira? Liliana?" Jasmine heard no response other than her own echo, and winced with the next name, "_Samira_?"

"Well, well… if it isn't the _Princess_, come to grace us with her presence." Ummah croaked from the shadows stumbling out.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, but when they had, Jasmine stifled a groan, seeing Ummah disheveled, bruised, and pugnaciously drunk. The large woman clumsily took a seat, nearly missing as she plopped down hard on her keister.

This was going to be awkward.

Jasmine gave a clear of the throat, stepping a little further in to look about the boarded windows.

"What's with the boards? Locking the girls in, now Ummah?" She tried to laugh and failed, her lighthearted remark coming out terse.

"More like keeping the threat out…"

Jasmine chewed at skin inside her cheek, digging deeply with a canine until she felt a tinge of blood. She didn't like it in here. Never had before, but now more than ever, the ambience had shifted: was heavy with death. Almost as if a curse were on it from Dracul's bloody murder. The staircase that led to the room where it all happened sent her to visibly shudder, and Jasmine wanted nothing more than to bolt for the door, and fall back into the light. But she remained put.

"Where is Tahira? The girls…. What – happened?"

"Besides you and that _vizier_ ruining my life?"

"He's the Sultan now Ummah…"

"Yeah… he _took_ that. That aint what he is to me…never will be. And he took _you_ too, don't forget that –."

She was right of course, and Jasmine felt stupid for even correcting Ummah.

"– Just like he took Dracul from me and left my brothel without protection."

Ummah uncorked a bottle and Jasmine slowly came to sit at the same table, picking up a fallen chair then resting in it, her weight creaking, making it seem the chair would buckle at any moment; its squeaking almost as unsettling as the rest of the brothels vibes. Jasmine spoke softer and slowly, as if to a frightened child. Although Jasmine didn't know if Ummah was afraid, or if it was _herself_ she was trying to calm.

"Ummah…. Where is Tahira."

"Dead probably."

The Queen remained silent, giving an unimpressed look at the Madam's vague negativity.

Madam brothel sighed, "The girls all left. Except for Vada. But that's cause she's too old and ugly to make it on her own anymore."

"Vada's only 23."

"Well she's ugly then," Ummah hissed before drinking heavily. Wafting fermented grapes and spiced breath as she burped.

"I don't understand… why would they leave? What – the hell, is going on?"

"Petty thugs, and street rats the first few days. Without Dracul to protect us, they took most of our loot. But, the real threat is yet to be had…" she burped again this time while drinking and choked a little on the fluid before beginning again. "There is a group of murderous heathens. They call themselves Malik Alllusus. King of Thieves…I never should've done what I did…"

"Done what Ummah… and for Allah's sake, put down the fucking bottle already! You look like shit and I can barely understand you." Jasmine snatched the bottle from Ummah's thick hand, and set it hard on the top. Now she knew how Jafar felt this morning at breakfast.

Ummah grunted then reached inside her dress to pull out a small decanter of wine, and kept drinking.

_Sick…_

After Ummah had her fill, she went on, "Malik Alllusus is a notorious gang traveled from the Middle East. Or, South Asia. No… from Greece and Austria… just... all over," Ummah waved a hand still barely audible as her tongue grew slack. "Dracul, was second in command though, alright? _That_ I know for certain."

"Alright…" Queen Jasmine folded her hands on the table trying to remain composed and patient, just wanting to know what happened to her friends.

"Well… a long time ago, he betrayed the leader of the thieves, for one reason or another. Then, stole an abundance of their fortune and left with saddlebags full of gold. Long story short – by the time I found him, he was on my steps, half dead. With wounds, blackened eyes and broken ribs. But he never lost one coin of his riches…," Ummah paused shoving a stubby finger to the air, "I took him in, fixed 'em up and hid him. In return he protected me and the girls."

"Out of the kindness of your heart? I suppose that mass fortune had nothing to do with it." Jasmine crossed her arms, feeling agitated as if she'd never left the brothel. Ummah was a greedy pig no doubt about it, and had treated the girls with bare necessities and harsh punishments. All while keeping more than half of their earnings; yet this entire time she had sat on riches with a thieving brute. Unbelievable.

Madam didn't disagree but picked at her teeth, and gave a slight shrug.

"Well…if they never found Dracul before, I doubt they will come looking for him here now. And even if they did…he's already – gone."

Ummah shot a look that told Jasmine it hurt to be callously reminded of his death, and Jasmine gave an apologetic wince. The rounded woman spoke again, only this time, it was a hushed, broken, whisper, forcing Jasmine to lean in.

"The night of your auction… Dracul bid all he had on you… he wanted you so _badly_, and …. It broke my damn heart… I wanted to break his. So, I wrote a letter and sent the kitchen boy to track down the bandits and let them know Dracul was hidden here the last decade."

What?! _Rahman_…?

"Wait, wait, wait? You sent, a twelve-year-old child after a murderous gang of degenerates, because you were hurt over some maniacal crush?" Jasmine hit the table shocking both herself and Ummah, "What the fuck! Rahman is probably dead, because of you…Do you realize how selfish that was?"

"Ha! If only I could be so lucky."

Jasmine curled her lips, crossing her arms again. She should be shocked, but wasn't.

"Unfortunately, the gods of every faith are against me, and I'm more than positive that boy made his destination safely, and in time to deliver the message – stop glaring at me girl! I know it was foolish… but before I could change my mind, Jafar had burst in here looking for you, and I'd forgotten all about it…"

_Sure, blame my psycho husband. But if Rahman's hurt, that's blood on your hands._

Ummah's pig like features wrinkled, making her snout crease in several places, "I knew Jafar was screwed up... just… not _that_ horrible."

Clearly Jafar's reputation had been widely known for some time. Not just when he took over Agrabah. "Yeah, I know the feeling. He's – shocked me too…," Jasmine held her stomach and looked down, trying to find a positive, "Should the bandits come through here they will see Dracul is dead, and they'll just leave… right?"

"They'll be wanting their treasure back."

"So?"

"So, we spent the loot over the years, there's not a cent left. Hell, this brothel was built on that money. They will recant it by whatever means necessary, until they feel they have been set right and paid for tenfold. No doubt they'll spill my blood, and whoever is in my company for good measure…"

The lower bit of her spine ached from hunching and Jasmine straightened. Dracul was a murderous thug, and Ummah a no-good whoremonger. For that, Jasmine knew they both deserved what had happened and what was to come. However, she had played a hand in these events as well. None of this would've come to pass had she not tried to escape her destiny as Jafar's wife and Queen. Even if Ummah was disgusting, Jasmine truly wanted to be the mother of the nation, advocate for the weary, and friend for the lost and afraid. And that meant for _all_ of her people. Jafar would simply have to get on board later.

"I'll be back tomorrow morning… can you make it by until then?"

Ummah gave a look of surprise, eyes red from tears as she blinked them away and nodded up to Jasmine who was now standing to go.

"You don't deserve my kindness… but, then again. I don't deserve the second chances I've been given, either. You and Vada can stay with me in the palace for a short time. I'll be back before noon tomorrow."

Jasmine gave a nod to confirm she was set in the decision, but she needed to get out as quickly as possible before she could change her mind. Just before she reached the exit, however, Madam called to her.

"A word of advice, Princess… Be careful of that one. Jafar. He's not the man he once was."

_He once was?_ Thick tresses flipped as Jasmine spun around.

"What do you mean by that? Did – you know him?"

Ummah shook her head not wanting to say too much, afraid Jasmine might withdraw her offer. But the girl gave a stern look, which caved Ummah's resistance.

"He was very young… not too much older than you now; though he looked and acted beyond his years. He and Sultana were famous together, She the beautiful powerful Queen, and he her ward... and lover."

Jasmine involuntarily gagged and felt her ears turn inside out.

"Oh, don't look that way young Queen. Jafar was a looker for sure back then, and the two together were delicious. _Vicious_, but enchanting all the same."

"I… I think you're mistaken. You're drunk. Please just get some –."

A throaty laugh came out turning into a guttural cough, as Ummah spit onto the floor. "You don't believe me? Just as well. No one ever wants to believe a whore. But lookey here."

Jasmine stepped cautiously closer then regretted the decision instantly as Ummah landed a heavy foot on an empty seat and raised her dress to reveal thick inner thighs. It was difficult to make out in poor light, but there seemed to be a curved burn mark that had healed over improperly.

"I know it's ugly, but I was the first to be marked. He got better at it over time, looks real nice on all the others."

"Jafar…the man I had to marry. He did that to you? W – With what?"

"A cobra ring." Ummah put her dress back down, "It was a family heirloom of Sultana's."

Jasmine felt a wavering sickness then held onto a chair for support as she clutched her belly with the other hand. "So … he stole it from my mother?"

"Ha! You'd like to believe that, yeah? Sultana is the one who shoved it in his hand piping hot the first few times." Ummah's laugh came unsettling, like rocks rubbing together, "He was terrified of what she told him to do. But, after a bit, Jafar took to the branding kindly. It pleased his mistress, so he wore it on his hand with pride for the longest time."

Jasmine turned green trying to register all of this. There was no way any of that was truthful. Jafar never wore such a trinket and neither had her mother – that she could recall. Sultana would never have betrayed Hamed or slept with a young boy, or made him do distasteful things like that!

As far as the rumors about Jafar went, Jasmine didn't want to entertain the notion. Period. Him fucking her mother, and Ummah, and Allah new how many others, was a debilitating vision. And now he was fucking her. How many women had he brought with him into bed this morning? A dozen. A hundred? Jasmine felt dirty all over, and wanted to run down to the river and scrub herself bloody.

"As I said," Jasmine swallowed hard and pulled herself to full height, which wasn't much, "I will be back for you tomorrow… sleep it off, you're drunk."

Ummah cheered to the air laughing idiotically and began singing some old song about whoring.

When Queen Jasmine burst through the door, she all but fell on her knees in the sand; as if being tossed out on her ass by Satan himself. Jamal looked at her worriedly, and Jasmine held up a finger suggesting she only needed a minute to catch her breath.

Finding the alleyway where Jafar had caught her, Jasmine ducked into the cool shade between the buildings, and rolled her head back on the brick. She refused to believe a word of what Ummah said. Jafar was many things sure, but he would never sleep with Sultana and then her daughter. The woman called mother was a stranger to Jasmine, but her mom nonetheless. And for that reason alone, Jasmine believed deeply that Sultana was a good, faithful wife, who would never harm anyone or anything.

Tomorrow Ummah would be sobered up, and then Jasmine could ask more questions and possibly get the correct answers, instead of these putrid horror stories. Then, after clearing Sultana's name, Jasmine would look for Tahira and the girls. One step at a time.

* * *

It was high noon when Jasmine decided she'd had enough fresh air, and needed to head back to the palace – lest Jafar become murderous and burn down the city to find her. The thought made her eyes roll as she began walking towards the place. Jamal remained with the peasants though, smiling widely as he gave food to a little girl, who then hugged him tightly. Jasmine had turned in time to see and smiled, walking backwards to keep eyes on the beautiful view, when she ran into something, and let out a gasp.

Jasmine turned swiftly around, cursing herself for constant gaucherie. "I'm so sorry … I – I'm…" Her throat tightened as the words caught.

It was a man of whom she'd bumped into and he was clothed in royal blue and black from head to toe, dark wide eyes and thick brows the only thing that showed. Lower halves of his lids raised, making him looking like he was glaring at her while studying the young woman. Did she know him before? Had she done something to upset him? (Other than ramming into him with her backside.)

Jasmine opened and closed her mouth, feeling an unsettling familiarity with the masked man. But before she could announce any qualms, the palace guard was at her side.

"Is there a problem, your Majesty?"

"Get off your sword, Jamal," Jasmine huffed, stepping back from the stranger, knowing Jamal was ready to attack. "Everything is fine here." She looked from her guard and back to the man, "I apologize again for running into you."

The man blinked a response, still watching her as if she were a treasure to behold, and she moved past him, averting her eyes from the intense stare; looking over her shoulder once to see that the man had turned to follow her with a watchful gaze. Jasmine shuddered a little, and went on, thankful Jamal was with her after all.

* * *

The guard went ahead, going around back to the servants' quarters as Jasmine strode briskly up the pebbled walkway, something catching her right eye from high above on a balcony.

Henrietta and Jafar were leaning on the ledge. Jafar looked upset, and Ettie held on his arm in a consoling manner. Jasmine remained unnoticed from below; thoughts locked on the pair, preventing her from hearing the man that approached from the palace steps.

"There you are your Majesty. Everyone had worried something terrible happened when you were nowhere to be found."

Autumn winds filled Jasmine's lungs as she snapped to attention, facing Elijah. "I was amongst my people and very safe I assure you. Plus, I didn't feel it necessary to intrude on your meeting with the Sultan; but I thank you for your concerns"

He stepped by Jasmine and, with a look, egged her to peer up towards the balcony where Ettie and Jafar remained close together.

"They're quit a lovely vision together, wouldn't you agree, your highness."

Jasmine smirked, acting like that didn't bother her. "Your daughter _is_ lovely, Mr. Kingsley, however I'm afraid any vision that includes Jafar is less than praiseworthy."

He scoffed, looking from the couple to the lovely Queen, "You dare to speak so blatantly about your own husband?" Elijah raised a brow but wasn't shocked in the least. He remembered full well her antics when she stormed into the great hall a few months back. She might've changed her appearance, and title, but remained a foolish girl at her core.

"You don't know the Sultan like I do…" Jasmine turned away from her husband when seeing him look into Ettie's eyes – Jafar still void of noticing Jasmine at all.

"On the contrary. I believe to know him better than you ever will." Elijah held out the crook of his arm, "Shall we speak privately?"

It would be rude to decline, and Jasmine didn't want to push her luck as coming off as an improper and ill-mannered child; so, took his arm with both hands, as they strolled away from the balcony deep into the garden, the trees giving relief from the high sun.

"Did you know that I knew your mother?"

Jasmine shook her head slightly. Sultana was a sore subject at the moment, after the terrible conversation with Ummah. If everyone could stop bringing up the deceased, that would be fantastic.

"It was only once that I met her, you were only a little infant at the time… but I remember how beautiful she was. You remind me of her."

"You're too kind, Mr. Kingsley. I'm sure Ettie is as beautiful as her mother too."

"Yes… the spitting image. Henrietta blossomed into a rose seemingly overnight and was only fourteen when she became enamored with Jafar…"

_Okay cutting to the point... that's fine, get it over with._

"He was a decent ten years older, and of course I found their liking for one another, slightly alarming. We are protestant after all, and he of Arab faith and customs."

They turned with the winding path, passing underneath some archways, as Elijah went on conversationally. "But… the summer he spent with us that year had proven their love was more powerful than anything, and I agreed to their plans for marriage."

Jasmine felt her belly clench unwarranted, and took in the cool breeze that alleviated her flushed cheeks. She never knew Jafar had been engaged and it strangely made her upset. Elijah had no right to bring up this subject, and even though a foreigner, he would be proclaimed rude and incompetent in any culture, without excuse.

Though she didn't really want to know, Jasmine felt there was more Elijah had to say, and she preferred he get on with it sooner rather than later. "May I ask what happened."

"Jealousy, Queen Jasmine, is an ugly thing. Much like a disease it eats away at the flesh. Inside at first, where its unseen. But sooner or later, it disfigures the outer appearance, until all that's left is a rotting, putrid image."

They stopped walking, and faced each other, the tone turning subtly intense.

_Make your point man without the analogies._

"All I know, is that when my Henrietta went to Agrabah with Jafar to announce their engagement, she shortly returned to England. Alone. And _devastated_. Whatever happened, had silenced her for nearly a year… and I thought she might die from heartache."

Jasmine's face paled slightly while a chill ran through her vertebrae. Jafar was _always_ a monster. End of conversation.

Elijah remained stern as if Jasmine held the answer. As if _she_ were the reason behind his daughter's failed engagement.

It too everything to not scoff, "Whatever happened… I wouldn't know... It – wasn't my fault,"

"Of course, not, silly girl, you were only a toddler at the time."

Jasmine huffed, folding her hands in front. So, what did he want from her then? Whatever happened in the past she clearly had no part of, yet everyone kept looking at her as if she had. Furthermore, this wasn't a competition between Jasmine and Ettie. This was her life, and she was growing tired of today's incessant rumors.

"Jafar deserves happiness, just as much as my daughter."

Jasmine pulled a face, mouth twisting in a confused frown, "How can you say that after what he did to Ettie?"

"I didn't say **_he_** did anything…"

Dander dulled to a small simmer, as Jasmine grew weak in the knees envisioning her mother being the one of whom Elijah spoke so poorly about. This was getting out of hand.

"We will be gone after tomorrow… but in fair notice, as a gentleman, I wanted to warn you, your majesty, that I will not let anything come between my daughter and her happiness, _again_."

_Hold up, sir. Excuse me?_ "Is that a threat, Mr. Kingsley? …"

He topped his hat, and smirked, caterpillar moustache quirking, "Of course not, Queen Jasmine. I'd never threaten a woman."

Then he turned and headed back the way they'd come, chest puffed, with a satisfied grin on his face.

Jasmine held her stomach, repressing the conflicting emotions of today. This crap needed to stop, now. Allah knew how far these rumors spread across the world, and her mother's name would be tainted no more. And, at the very least, Jasmine might finally find out why Jafar was the _prick _that she knew. Only then would she attain some peace and possibly figure out how to survive her erratic husband. Maybe even be rid of him altogether. Ummah would be here tomorrow, and hopefully have some answers then. But the only other person to undoubtedly hold some shred of evidence, would be Jafar… Allah knew there must be countless secrets kept away in that private tower.

And what better time to search than now, when everyone was gathering for luncheon and tea.

* * *

This was the place that nightmares were created. Dark, chilly, and utterly empty. Much like Jafar's soul. Maybe that was how he had spent so many hours in a place like this. Personally, she wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, and hopefully find what she was looking for the first time around. Coming back would prove most horrific.

Her own father, that sweet man, had been captive in this tower during the beginning stages of his illness. It felt like a lifetime ago when Razoul had told her of this place and she'd come in to try and rescue Hamed from the bed. Then, of course, Jafar had caught Jasmine and sent her out in a mess of tears.

Allah, how drastically times had changed. If he were to catch her now she wouldn't cry. She would punch him in the jaw.

That memory came with the reminder of their one-sided tiff – Jasmine had screamed for Jafar to never say her mother's name again. To which, Jafar had smirked and said that he had said Sultana's name a hundred times over – and she had screamed _his_ for a thousand and one nights.

At the time, Jasmine assumed he was just being spiteful, saying whatever needed to devastate her. Never had she thought she'd be here again, this time seeking to find out if those accusations were true; and what sort of monstrosities lurked in the shadows of the past.

There were old books with plenty of dust on them, but nothing of suspicion, plus a painting on the wall of a snake devouring its prey. Other than making her cringe, Jasmine found it too of no value, and searched high and low the rest of the place. After what felt like an eternity, and still no answers, Jasmine grunted and stomped a foot crossing her arms.

Nothing could be easy, could it?

Then, just when she'd given up, Jasmine caught sight of an oversized book. It had the least amount of dust on it, and stuck out sort of odd. Maybe that was something? Thin fingers wrapped around the meaty cover and as she pulled on it, a clacking noise rang, and the hardcover became stuck at an angle. To her delight, and much needed luck, a square cutout in the floor appeared, and from it rose a large locked chest.

_"Yes!"_ Jasmine shouted, pumping her fist in the air, before covering her mouth to take back the outburst. She pulled some pins from her hair, letting the bun fall loosely over her back, and worked the lock. "Please, Allah. I need to know. Don't stop me when I'm this close…"

While trying to think better, Jasmine stuck her tongue out, as the pins moved up and down within the lock. If only Aladdin were here damnit. This was one crime she would've been more than okay with him committing. Murmurs came from below the stairwell and outside of the secret wall. They were too faint for Jasmine to make out, but it quickened her pulse all the same; fingers trembling, dropping the hair pins in a fit of anxiety. Jasmine swore, picking them up and quickly working on the lock again. Her heartbeat reverberated at the back of her head when something clicked. The padlock fell open, and all of heaven seemed to sing out in exhilaration.

Jasmine hurriedly rummaged through the chest, vision blurry with the rapid speed of looking and tossing, looking and tossing. Jasmine came upon a pendant that bared striking resemblance to Iago. _Curious._ Come to think of it, she hadn't seen Iago since Jafar took over Agrabah.

"Huh…" Jasmine chewed her cheek turning the parrot in her hand, then shrugged tossing it back carelessly into the box. _Stay on track, Jasmine._ There were old clothes, some letters and scripts written in another language, but that was the gist of it. No golden snake ring, and no evidence of him ever being with her mother. Until finally, at the very bottom, there laid a small book. It was black leather with a golden cobra engraved on the cover, the edges of it lined in angular patterns of gold and red.

Giving a shrug and deciding aloud that it, "looks promising, enough," Jasmine swiftly withdrew it and shoved the manuscript inside her waistband; piling all the other things back inside, before clicking the lock in place. Once she pushed the secret lever back into position, the floor swallowed up the trunk, and resumed normalcy.

A small victory, however, she wasn't out of the woods yet.

The dungeon like door closed heavily behind, snuffing out the tower's light so she was in absolute nothingness. Jasmine trotted down the steps blindly, nearly smacking her face into the wall at the end. The door slid over just a smidge, and Jasmine peeked out into the empty den. When it was evident she was in the clear, Jasmine made way for her boudoir, dodging behind pillars, and bolting past open bedrooms doors. It felt like she had traveled across the entire Middle East when at last sanctuary came into view, and Jasmine went inside, locking herself within the small room as she pressed back into the frame to catch her breath.

_That was kind of…fun!_ Jasmine grinned to herself, laughing quietly, as she looked over her victorious trophy. There was a clasp on it, and what looked like another damn lock. Ready to make work on it, a thumping came behind her head from someone striking on the door.

"Er – Who is it?"

No response.

"I – I'll be right there." Jasmine frantically searched the small room for a place to hide the book, and wrapped it in a thin blanket, before tossing it under the corner underneath the duvet. Wrinkles smoothed from her two-piece outfit as Jasmine patted herself over, attempting to look composed instead of sweaty and out of breath.

Another rap.

"I said I'm _coming_," the door swung open, and Cruella stood leaning at her full length in the archway.

"Well not yet you aren't darling, but give me a bit and I could make you _come_ like never before."

_Oh, sweet Allah._

Jasmine pulled a face, looking disturbed. Even after all those weeks in a brothel with ruffians and loose scandalous women, Jasmine still had yet to meet a _human_ that could live up to the scathing abilities in which Cruella enacted daily. "Cruella… you're truly a piece of work."

Black and white frail hair was tossed from her cheek as Cruella spoke silkily, "I know darling, isn't it wonderful?"

"You _do_ make my life more interesting, I'll give you that much."

"As do all great women, darling!"

The women locked arms and head towards the private room where tea and opium were usually distributed. Despite the gossip of today, Jasmine decided her luck was phenomenal. Jafar had been too busy to notice her absence this morning, she had stolen something from his private quarters, and still remained in the clear, seeing that everyone was settled in, drinking tea casually.

"Tell me, darling, what ever will you do without me when I'm gone?"

Jasmine smiled, and patted Cruella's thin hands as Jafar, sitting on a cushion, came into her line of sight, "Well, I won't be getting drunk anymore, that's one thing."

"Shame. Well… if you're ever in London, feel free to visit me. You're always welcome in my home, darling. Especially if you need a break from that _fox_ of a husband…or if you end up killing him and need to take cover for a bit."

Jasmine gasped trying not to laugh, "Cruella!?"

"I'm only playing darling. … _Sort of_."

Cruella gave a cheeky kiss to Jasmine, as the two caught the eyes of those already seated. The men all sat on one side of the platters while Ettie, and apparently Jasmine and Cruella, would sit on the opposite side. Being between Ettie and Cruella wasn't exactly ideal, but Jasmine appreciated the fact she wasn't forced to sit at Jafar's right hand this time. The cushion was soft against her bottom, welcoming her tush as she snuggled in on it. Legs crossing Jasmine situated herself easily then pulled her hair back to keep it from falling into the platter of delicacies.

She avoided Jafar's eye contact for the first several minutes, not trusting herself to keep secret that she had just been sneaking around in a forbidden place. And… stealing. But after a while, and as her neck hurt from craning awkwardly to avoid him, Jasmine could handle it no longer and was forced to meet his questioning look. He gave a quirk of his brow and a twitch of the eye, and though subtle, it was obvious there laid a hundred demanding questions and threats in regards to where she was, how she escaped the bed, and why the fucking hell she was smiling like a guilty idiot.

Regardless of his anger, Jasmine smiled with persistence and found it a good idea to be cheeky – puckering her pink lips to send him an airy kiss. With that Jafar's nostrils flared as he exhaled forcefully and made an exasperated face. But, as she bit into a berry, Jasmine gave another sweet smile and it seemed to be enough to coat his irritation for the moment, and he let it drop.

When everyone was midway through tea and hors d'oeuvres, Jasmine innocently threw in a little number of her own to keep things interesting.

"By the way, husband, when I visited the people today, I purchased four large carts of bread, and also two barrels of fish to feed those most in need."

No one moved or breathed it seemed, including Jafar who remained frozen with irate shock.

Her lips were coated with grape juices as she sucked on one, uninterested, before continuing, "So we owe the merchants their money tomorrow. However, by the end of today would look best."

"Would it, indeed?" He growled through clenched teeth while she shrugged giving a nod.

As Cruella chimed in, moving the discussion other ways, the argument that could've unraveled, if Jafar and Jasmine had been alone, died down, and Jafar again, let it slide.

The rest of tea went on peacefully, most of it void of any political or debating topics. The women chatted lightly together, as did the men, occasionally crossing paths in their conversations when someone said something of peeked interest. At one point Jafar and Elijah mentioned they would be gone from the city for most of tomorrow for business; which Jasmine found wonderfully lucky news. That could maybe be an opportunity to get into the book, or rummage through his tower for more clues.

Though her spirits were bright, and hope was looking at an all-time high, Jasmine naturally found herself worrying about the _other_ issues. Ummah and Vada were invited to stay here for a bit, unbeknownst to the Sultan. And everything Madam said, plus all that Elijah had voiced, were getting to her. Their words about her mother, and the man she now called husband, chewed on her heart all through the rest of the day; and even after dinner and during the entertainment of the palace performers.

During the show in the throne room, Ettie had sat awfully close to Jafar, on his _left_ side of course, and the two had way more to talk about than Jasmine and Jafar did. Ettie laughed so much with Jafar over secret whispers, and inside jokes, and Elijah kept giving Jasmine the I-told-you-so look. More than rude, it was obnoxious, and Jasmine couldn't wait for them all to just get the hell gone, and go back to Europe. And if they liked Jafar that much, they could take him too for all she cared.

The night drew to a close shortly after, leaving Jasmine at Jafar's leisure, his hands clutching the small of her bare back as they went into their chambers. Massive doors closing them within.

"Loaves of bread, and fish…?"

Yup. She had been waiting for that to come. Sheesh. Imagine if he knew her plans to also move in two whores and undo all his dirty little secrets.

"Problem?" she bit dryly, undoing her headband so the locks fell freely around her face as she turned to him.

"Did you have fun playing savior for a day, little wife?"

"The stick…and the carrot. I recall you liking that ideology, and calling me… what was it –," He stepped further, removing his thobe in the way she was growing accustomed to. "– Perfect?"

Jafar towered her now so Jasmine's slender neck craned to meet him, his thick lashes coating the dark set eyes which looked upon her.

"What am I to do with you?" it came in a hushed strained tone as if he sincerely was at his end with her, and exasperated by her constant stubbornness and willpower.

Jasmine almost pitied him, while his musk flooded her senses making her head swim as he traced the lines of her young face.

"Take me to bed?" Jasmine breathed, figuring that lying with the man might be one way to calm her own tired vexation with _him_.

* * *

The rope cut into her wrists, but it didn't hurt, Jasmine rather liking the punishment Jafar prepared as he fastened the last knot. Trapping her to the headboard he made a comment that _this_ time, she would not escape her fate so easily. His mouth found hers while undoing her top and slipping off her beige pants – for once, instead of ripping into her outfit – and before long, Jasmine was completely naked and at his mercy.

"Why don't you take off _your_ clothes, Jafar?" She smirked, watching him pull himself free, still fully dressed in red and black clothing.

"Why aren't you naked more often, Jasmine?" He quipped, and gave a cheeky grin, that made her smile and then bite her lip as he placed himself between her thighs.

Her legs spread willingly for him, sliding her tiny feet down to massage his calves with her toes.

"That can be arranged. Perhaps, I'll walk around the palace that way too? Although, the other men may want me for themselves. I guess you'll have to be willing to share and play nice with the other children."

His excited eyes became blackened with wickedness and he let go of his member to crawl over her so his nose was pressed into her hair; the silk of his shirt grazing her hardened nipples. A tinge of excitement rang through her ears, making them buzz with heated eagerness as he bit into the shell of her ear, scraping sharp teeth down and onto her earlobe.

Elijah's words, and Ummah's, still rang in Jasmine's mind, screaming at her for what she was allowing. They could all go to hell though for all she cared. In this moment, she needed this; needed her fill, and the past could wait until later. For now, Jafar was a satisfying distraction from the trying day. Even more distracting was the shock that came when Jafar kissed her forehead and down the tip of her nose; as if kissing away her fears one peck at a time, making her short of breath and tingly all over. Then all too soon, Jafar stopped to meet her glossy eyes.

"Do I look, like the type of man to share what's his?"

And there it was. He ruined any form of sweetness with one phrase.

"I belong to _no one_, Jafar. Least of all, you."

She knew what that answer would get her, and when it came, her back arched as she hissed, baring teeth. Jafar's shaft an overwhelming presence that filled her entirely. Every thrust he made, she met; Jasmine's lower abdomen growing deliciously sore from the depth of his penetration. Her hands ached to touch him, to scratch his back, and she whined, panting and writhing beneath him. Jafar sucked on her breasts, and played with her swollen clit until her body gave out and Jasmine came, pulling on the ropes until they burned against her delicate wrists; Jafar's violent release following shortly after. The Sultan collapsed on top of Jasmine and both laid for a moment; trembling and fighting to slow their frantic breaths.

"You will always belong to me, little mouse." He taunted, when able, taking her jaw in his hands.

It struck a blaze and Jasmine lunged out and bit his lip, taking the bottom one under her teeth roughly. Jafar groaned and smiled wickedly under her control, loving the way she was unpredictably sexy, challenging and powerful. The bite turned into a sucking motion, making his lip swollen and plump by the time she released him; her saliva leaving a glossy sheen behind. Jafar sucked his lower lip into his mouth to relish in the taste of her, then growled, seizing her possessively until Jasmine was left breathless and dizzy.

"_My,_ pussy cat," he purred then kissed her once more before drawing a knife and cutting her free.

"If I'm _yours_, maybe you should brand _me_ so there will be no room for debate." The words tumbled out faster than her brain could catch up with. But they'd come out all the same and Jafar caught every word.

As the bondages fell loosely from her skin, Jasmine pulled her arms down and into her sides, rubbing away the red marks as she avoided Jafar's horror struck face.

"What, was that?" he gave warning and she looked over at him innocently, raising a bare shoulder.

"Did I say something wrong?"

His mouth pressed into a flat line as he grew ever-threatening. Even on his knees Jafar was omnipotent, but Jasmine remained undeterred.

He looked like a lion on the prowl, fists digging into the mattress as he watched her with wild eyes. "What _else_ did you do in the streets today?" It poured out calm and smooth, but there was so much hatred laced deep within and the sound pooled in Jasmine's belly like vinegar.

Her skin pricked as the hairs on her arms rose and the left eye gave a twitch, as Jasmine tried to conjure up some fib in her mind. But lying, as always, was not her strong suit. It made her gut twist and body do odd things which always gave the truth away. If she dared to speak one word of a lie, her voice would split and it would all come undone, right here; then Jasmine would never get the answers she desperately needed.

"I'm tired."

There. That _was_ a truth.

Jafar snorted through his nostrils, and Jasmine pulled the sheets to her chest and rolled over, closing her eyes praying that he would leave her alone. After a few moments, she felt him get out of bed, and pour some wine before taking a seat at his desk.

He could be watching her. Could be holding a dagger in his hand plotting when to slit her throat. It was unbearable not turning around but Jasmine managed, finding herself drifting off into busy dreams. What she had said, had come out on accident. That little stunt could very well cost her everything, and with the truth so close at hand, the thought of losing the advantage was enough to make her heart cramp.

People were speaking poorly of her mother, clearly not just in Agrabah, yet she seemed to be the only one out of the loop. Well, father too probably. Once Jafar and Elijah left tomorrow, Jasmine planned to crack into the book and be done with this entire mess. If Allah was gracious there would be enough damning evidence to clear Sultana's name and unravel the web of dysfunction that constantly entrapped her. Jasmine only hoped that when it all came crashing down, she wouldn't drown with the tide.


	16. Chapter 16: Ablaze

It licked the base at first like a hungry cub from a teat, gentle and playfully lapping. Then, in a fit of passion, the flames wound like a mighty serpent, lashing out in devouring spools of fire and smoke; charcoaling the structures into blackened ash. Within moments Agrabah was ablaze for miles, flames leaping in orange and red waves from one wooden structure to the next, while clay homes were sparked from within, their darkened silhouettes suddenly part of the conflagration. Followed in the wake of cackling flames were the panicked shrieks of Arabs, the flames' ravenous appetite devouring everything and everyone in its monstrous path. There were so many shrills, jumbled heartbroken pleas, that went unheeded. Fear thick in the air as it rose with noxious clouds of smoke, blotting the pale blue sky until everything was grey.

Grey and hellishly illuminated.

* * *

_Earlier that morning…_

Having fallen asleep at his desk, Jafar never came to bed. When Jasmine noticed, it had been early hours of morning as she watched from her pillow. Half dead flickers of fire gave meager light to the room. Her husband's head was slouched over, mouth frowning as intertwined fingers rested in front and elbows were cocked out on the arms of the chair. It looked horribly uncomfortable and Jasmine held her breath for a moment before concluding he was indeed asleep.

This was their second night together as a lawfully bound couple, yet he still hadn't slept next to her in bed; a fact that troubled her slightly. He preferred his chair and a neck ache to lying with Jasmine, and she couldn't help but take slight offense. She didn't like the man after all, and wouldn't protest to his choice of distance, but the action made her seem undesired, or icky somehow. Like _she_ was the one to be fearful of.

Still, Jasmine wondered if waking him to come lie down wasn't a bad idea. If her being there was so off putting, she would be more than obliged to sleep in her old room. But when Jasmine went to move fear took over and she thought better of it. They hadn't left off on good terms that night, or any other night to be fair, and with Jasmine's slip up about branding, it deemed unwise to poke a sleeping beast. Jafar needed space from her, for whatever reason. Had given a disgusted, yet almost hurt, look when she said what she had. Maybe this was better.

So, the Queen rolled on her back and sighed, closing her tired eyes. But, despite the fact that there were plenty of hours left until morning, Jasmine could not quiet her mind. It worked double time keeping her wide awake even while snuggled in a comfy bed. Jasmine squirmed against the sheets trying to get more settled and realized her nakedness. Ever so quietly, Jasmine rose, slipped past the sleeping man, and opened the wardrobe. She found a black robe of sorts, and fastened it over her small frame. It was overly large and clearly his, but it felt less vulnerable to have something on. Then, crawling gently back under the sheets, Jasmine laid muted, watching the lines of the canopy's red fabric.

Counting Alibaba's treasure in her mind didn't work. Deep breathing while pretending to be asleep hadn't worked either. It was so quiet it was loud. She couldn't even hear Jafar breathing from where he slept. Momentarily she'd wondered if he'd died and raised her head to look over; only finding him sound asleep, broad chest rising and falling steadily as he remained in that horrible position.

Jasmine twiddled her thumbs on her stomach, and instead decided to think over what the new day would bring. Jafar and Elijah would leave around sunrise and be gone all day.

_Elijah. Elijah and the warning about Ettie and Jafar being in love. Ettie and Jafar having an affair. Ettie and Jafar having a baby. Getting married. "All hail Queen Ettie!"_

Jasmine rubbed her eyes as the thoughts got rapidly out of hand, then sighed dramatically, trying to start over.

Okay… new day. Elijah and Jafar won't be back until sundown. That's enough time to get into the book and search more thoroughly in his private quarters. Allah knows there may even be more secret passageways to be discovered. Then, in the afternoon Ummah and Vada will come stay here for a bit…

_Ummah. Ummah and the burn from the snake ring. The snake ring and Jafar. The snake ring, Jafar and Sultana. Jafar, Sultana, Ummah, and a dozen other women fucking! Oh, Allah make it stop!_

"What the hell!" her whisper came out like a clanging of tambourines and she covered her face entirely, commanding both brain and mouth to shut up.

But with lids closed the vividness of her imagination became all the more real.

There was a young Jafar in the back of her eyes, strong, tall, with amazing hair, and naked. Butt ass naked. And her mother, too. Their bodies were writhing together, with horrible pleasure filled expressions. And as the panel zoomed out Ettie was there also, as were countless other women; with more breasts and cunts and asses than Jasmine would ever care to see in a lifetime, and Jafar was smiling. Smiling wickedly with a boyish manner and as Jafar screwed the Sultana, he looked straight at Jasmine and mouthed, "you're next."

Jasmine audibly groaned, hands leaving her panged face as she brought the covers up overhead to snuff out the world and over active mind. The visions were still there though causing a trembling belly and a sickness that spread to her soul. She needed water, or fresh air perhaps, but for Allah's sake she couldn't keep laying in this damn bed, near a man, who may or may not have, done everything she'd just envisioned. The covers flung off with force as Jasmine gave the heavy blankets a toss, and swung her feet over the tall bed. Upon standing, she hugged the large robe to her bodice, then turned around and gave a shriek, Jafar sitting straight up, eyes wide as he watched her.

Shakily, the girl tried to state the need of water, but Jafar gave no response past rolling his neck to the side with an ominously dead stare. Jasmine didn't know what that look meant – nor most of the looks he gave – but found it unnecessary to find out, and crawled back into bed and turned away from him. Her quiet little outbursts must've woken him and Jasmine kicked herself for it, now forced to lay motionless. Jafar didn't move from his spot, nor did Jasmine, herself, twitch a muscle. Even when her leg itched, she'd ignored the stinging tickling of her calf, too afraid of who might be watching. It nearly drove Jasmine mad to remain in such an unyielding form the rest of the night. To make it more torturous, sleep alluded her worse than ever while images of before played on repeat.

When Jafar finally got up and dressed, Jasmine relaxed, closing her lids briefly only to have them shattered open once more; Jafar commanding she get up for breakfast and see him and Elijah off.

Normally there would have been a protest or large ordeal, albeit the offer was more than merciful compared to how she'd spent the last several hours, and Jasmine jumped up eagerly and moved past Jafar as he slipped on his shoes from the duvet. She hadn't acknowledged him though and dressed in a corner with her back turned, hurriedly slipping into tanned harem pants and a black top, which revealed her lithe stomach, and had long chiffon sleeves. If Jafar disliked her standoffish behavior, he never said so.

Even at breakfast Jasmine remained silent, never so much as looking up from the black coffee. She wasn't hungry this early in the morning – the sun itself had barely started to awake – but the group's small chatter and the sweet smells of bread and tea were enjoyable. Plus, the talk about the day's journey and business meant she didn't need to speak with or look at Jafar once; a thankful bit of luck. Images of the daydream were rather vibrant at the moment and if Jasmine were to interact with him so soon, she might very well hurl.

* * *

Cruella and Tobias had never come down for breakfast, so weren't expected to be out here this early in the morning either, leaving only Henrietta and the Queen to see off the two men. Crisp morning breeze bit through Jasmine's thin clothing, but it felt rather nice. Ettie threw her arms over Jafar's neck and he awkwardly stiffened, barely patting her back as he stepped away from the informal, and clearly unwanted, affection, Jafar coming next to bid Jasmine farewell.

"I'll be back this evening, alright?"

Jasmine didn't look at him but nodded once.

"Stay inside the palace today, the streets are no place for a respectable Queen…do you understand me little one?"

Though he sounded dangerous Jasmine kept silent, watching the first hairs of sunrise in the east. From the corner of her eye, Elijah and his daughter were embracing and speaking hushed, while Jafar searched Jasmine's face a moment longer.

When Jafar's wife still looked past, he bent to kiss her mouth, but she turned away, forcing his lips to meet with her cheek instead. Jasmine's eyes closed briefly at the contact; Jafar pulling away slowly, barely catching her reaction in the process.

Such blunt denial evidently angered Jafar. Had they been alone he might've gripped her cheeks and forced his tongue down her throat; but other than a twitch of the eye, his fury was masked with a calm demeanor, and he turned to mount a large black horse.

Earlier Jasmine had noted that Jafar wore a red shirt and bottoms today, while his thobe was white, with red and gold trimming, ensembled with a white turban and gold feather. Though Jasmine remained interested in the horizon, Jafar's appearance was clearly elegant and screamed royalty. For once though, Jasmine felt no attraction or lust. He may dress like a sultan, but more than ever all Jasmine saw was a manipulative, lying sack of crap. A deviant villain, a sadistic controlling monster, and last but not least, an adulterer and whoremonger.

Jafar and her were married. It was a contract, nothing more. Jafar had also been fucking her now too, and though he gave her mind-blowing orgasms, she was woman enough to call this what it was. Loveless, emotionless, meaningless. Those visions she'd had were all too real and even if she never found out the full truth about the past, Jasmine was rather sure that she already knew most the answers. Therefore, Jasmine had to suppress any insipid fantasy that Jafar could be capable of anything more than pain. Blocking him out entirely seemed only best. It would make the upcoming truths less painful.

Ettie blew kisses fervently and waved with a handkerchief, obviously enamored with love for her father… and Jafar. Jasmine wished Ettie would leave with them and all three to never come back again.

Despite her apparent abhorring, no amount of stubbornness deterred Jafar's eyes from boring into his wife like daggers. Elijah had already started to trot off, but Jafar remained firm, and it sent an uncontrollable chill through his target. She rubbed the backs of her arms as if cold, pretending to be unaware of the powerful man inches away.

Jafar clenched the reigns ever tighter as Jasmine ignored him. He glared down at the girl, willing her with his mind to turn and face him. To acknowledge him in whatever way necessary. Even if that meant she cursed and spat at his feet. Anything but this pathetic childish act. But after a moment, when Jasmine still refused to bend to his unspoken command, Jafar hollered with a deep growl, "Ha," and dug his heels into the horse, causing the steed to rear up and take off after Elijah.

Jasmine flinched at the sudden shout amongst the calm morning, but that was the extent of it. Then turned for home, never looking back to see that Jafar had paused one last time to watch after her, before ultimately catching up to Elijah and disappearing into the desert.

* * *

Before Jasmine could make it to the boudoir dozens of male servants were carrying furniture, clothing and bedding out of the Sultan's Main chambers, while moving new items within – Jafar's and Jasmine's. She had forgotten today Baba was being moved into a new room so she, and her husband, could finally have the master bedroom. Having been rather caught up with everyone else, and trying to be an empowering Queen, she had nearly forgotten about Hamed. Jasmine cursed herself as a scampering pattern of guilt ran over her skin; making way towards the opposite palace wing.

"Drink up Baba," Jasmine said, lifting a large spoon to Hamed's tight lips, her father shakily complying as he slurped the dark fluid.

"At least he's eating today," The royal doctor, Tabiib, stated, packing up his utensils, "He's better every day it seems."

"That's good, right? I mean, whatever ailed him is over with?"

He gave a thoughtful nod but looked unsure – which didn't help to ease Jasmine's worries.

"Whatever it was that caused this is passed from his system now," Tabiib closed up a bag.

Jasmine's smile at her sleepy father fell, replaced with an upset one directed towards the tall elderly man.

"Out of his system? Like…the sickness is, or – something that _caused_ it?"

The physician held up a hand and shook his head as if out of his element to recite suspicions about Hamed's condition. "All I'm saying my Queen is that whatever had debilitated your father had done so at an increasing and very damaging rate… but _now_, it's as if its slowly unwinding. Which in normal cases would be rare…He's even gotten some speech back, though he still seems disoriented and may have loss of memory."

The half-eaten soup was set aside as Hamed began drifting off.

"Do you think…" Jasmine swallowed dryly looking up, "Are you saying _someone_ could've done this to him?"

The physician smiled painfully and shrugged, "N – No. There's nothing to worry about now anyways."

Jasmine chewed her cheek feeling the doctor had more to say, but let the issue drop for now.

"He's alive, and well…that's all I ever wanted." She whispered, lifting the now sleeping man's plump hand to her lips.

After a few more minutes Tabiib excused himself, saying he had to leave this afternoon to a neighboring city. The queen thanked him as always, telling him to take some food from Geraldine for his travel and then left Hamed as well, having a servant, Hisham, to remain at his bedside.

* * *

Jasmine made way from her father's chambers. Though it was difficult to leave him, yet again, Jasmine knew he was safe; she'd just need to make a better habit of checking in on him daily. Other than the guilt there was something else gnawing her. Particularly the way Tabiib looked when speaking about his patient. For the faintest of moments, she'd wondered if Jafar had any part of what went wrong with Baba. But shook it away figuring that was reaching a little too far and she couldn't digest more accusations than were already on her plate.

Speaking of accusations…

She strolled through the hallways at a rather quick pace, nodding to a few servants and guards. Though she knew Jafar wouldn't return until that evening, the fear of being caught breaking into his private items made her belly twist in an odd way; making the matter feel urgent.

But, just as the private room came into sight, so did a mass of curled light hair and pair of blue eyes.

_Ettie. Perfected timing…_

"Your majesty," the woman gave a small bow before rising back up, her height just an inch taller than Jasmine's.

Queen Jasmine politely nodded and went to pass, but Ettie cleared her throat with a hopeful gaze, making Jasmine step back again; the younger woman forcing down the look of exasperation.

"Please, forgive me, Queen Jasmine, I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Ettie smiled sweetly without a hint of falsities.

Jasmine inhaled with a smile of her own.

"Not at all Miss Kingsley."

"Henrietta, Please."

Jasmine folded her hands giving a single nod, "Henrietta."

Henrietta shifted from foot to foot, taking hold of the thick billowy green dress she wore, "I'll get right to the point. Queen Jasmine, my father told me of his conversation with you yesterday before tea. "

Jasmine's smile dimmed. Though Elijah was one of many unpleasant conversations lately, Jasmine tried to remain polite and forget it. It wasn't Ettie's fault she had been engaged to Jafar when she was Jasmine's age. With that in mind, Jasmine tried not to judge Ettie too harshly. Instead wanting to have compassion for what the woman went through ten years earlier.

"He should never have done what he did, and I sincerely want to apologize for whatever he told you." Henrietta paused angling her face in question as to how much Elijah _had_ said.

Nonetheless, Jasmine didn't give any details, just a light scoff and shrug.

"He's your father. I understand, he had your best interests at heart."

The blonde woman gave a vicious nod knocking loose some fly away hairs around her temple. "I suppose…"

"Well, no harm done. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Henrietta," Jasmine stepped past just wanting to be done with this awkward exchange and get to that blasted book. After a few steps, however, a delicate hand skimmed Jasmine's elbow making her turn around.

"I – um... I also wanted to apologize for my own behavior."

Jasmine pulled a face, "You've done nothing wrong Henrietta. No apologies necessary."

_Other than clinging to my husband and kissing him at our wedding. But seriously…It's the last thing on my mind right now._

"But I have. I – I came here because my father, but my intentions were selfish." She shrugged, "You know how it is, when you love someone."

Jasmine's soft expression conflicted with surprise and confusion.

_Are we talking about your father still or…?_

Henrietta bashfully gleamed, looking at the polished floor and back up, though she avoided direct eye contact. "Does it ever go away?" She spoke with sadness.

"Does, _what_, ever –."

"Love," The blonde woman interrupted in a gentle voice, but it was broken.

What the hell did Jasmine know about love? She had only been in love once, or maybe only imagined it. But love seemed to get people killed. Seemed to make everyone miserable, confused, and inevitably alone in the end. Clearly Henrietta was referencing feelings for Jafar, but Jasmine didn't feel jealous by it. How could she? She didn't love Jafar. And he didn't love her.

"I don't know Henrietta…Maybe never. Not entirely – At least until a new love comes into our lives, and shows us we're allowed to move on. To love another…even if we never forget our first."

It was probably all wrong, but had sounded right, and Henrietta seemed to chew on the bitter sweet words. Jasmine smiled pleasantly then excused herself to the boudoir, but was frozen mid stride with the sound of shattered glass coming from the streets.

After another wave of chaos rang up through the windows, Jasmine and Henrietta raced towards the sill; both paling at the wave of blazing fires as people ran or fell out of buildings, some screaming as their clothes were in flames and they tried to roll in the dirt packed roads. Jasmine pushed away from the wall and raced down the corridor thinking only of her people and nothing more.

Henrietta chased after, trying to keep up as much as possible while holding her gown. She called after Jasmine but Jasmine pressed on, rushing down the stairs, and shouting for all guards to come to her aid. Within moments dozens of burly men in vests had swords drawn and were following their queen out the palace doors, and through the gates.

Outside, Henrietta caught up, bumping into Jasmine who had become rooted in shock at the wicked flames in the square, leading down through the marketplace. Untamed blazes spreading from wooden structures and crumbling the clay domes from the inside out.

When Jasmine swallowed the dry taste in her mouth, she accepted reality and started to run again when Ettie grabbed her by the arm.

"Queen Jasmine no! This isn't for a Queen to handle, let the men! You'll get hurt, or worse."

"I have to help my people!"

"Your Majesty no, this is their problem. Not the royals. Don't go out there, you _will_ get killed!"

Jasmine undid Ettie's claws with fervor, throwing the woman's pale hand from her.

"My people _are_ my problem."

With that Jasmine turned again and commanded a sword from a nearby guard. He tossed it to her, and she caught it awkwardly at first, then found the weight comforting as she raced through the scourging frenzy and towards the heart of it all. And the brothel.

Ettie horror struck, watched for a moment at the chaos, when a masked man in black and blue charged at her, and she shrieked and ran back inside, the gates closed hiding her behind the walls.

* * *

When finally reaching the brothel, Vada stumbled out grasping a left eye with blood gushing through closed fingers and Jasmine caught the woman in her arms.

"Oh my – Help! I need help over here!"

Agrabah was now an insurmountable pit of lunacy. An uproar of mayhem with blood, fire, and endless screams. Buildings coming down while ash and smoke clouded the air in billowing plumes. Vada didn't scream though, or cry, and Jasmine assumed she to be in shock. Let me see, Jasmine pulled the woman's hands away, and instantly regretted the choice now seeing why Vada had been holding her face. The prostitute had been trying to keep an eyeball in its socket, but it dangled by veins from the empty pit, and Jasmine heaved, gagging as she looked away and shakily called out for help again.

"Vada," Jasmine shivered, still not looking at the woman but rubbing her back as if to sooth her, "Where is Ummah. Did ummah get out?"

But Vada didn't respond. Vada did nothing, and Jasmine handed her off to some random face before entering the brothel; forgetting she'd given her sword to a woman with a child.

Jasmine's eyes and throat burned as she made way in the building. The outside chaos muffled into blurred sounds as the growling belly of fiery walls consumed the surrounding air. Her vision blurred, bare skin smoldering from blistering waves of heat. The fibers of her outfit searing within Jasmine's pores as she delved deeper.

"Ummah!" Jasmine screamed finding her throat burning and hoarse. A piece of the top floor caved in mere feet from where the queen stood and she shielded her face with the crook of her arm. Red sparks ignited, rising in the air like a cluster of fireflies, then paled into ash, tumbling back to the floor.

"Ummah!" She hollered again, this time more frantically, "**_Ummah_**!" her voice broke into a fit of shrill coughing, her chest burning and suddenly heavy with debris and combustion. Suddenly, a lump caught her eye near where the bar might've been, the figure disoriented through ripples of rising heat. Jasmine gasped and dove in, coughing deeply as nausea overtook her, and Jasmine hurled a little on the floor. She needed a minute to compose herself, but had none so resumed to stumble forward, finding Ummah unconscious and trapped beneath several beams and pieces of rubble.

"Oh Allah, please." She whispered brokenly at first then spoke as loud as possible, "Hold on Ummah! I'll get you out of here!"

Jasmine gave a guttural cry when placing her shoulder blades under the beam, and dug deep into her heels to lift the massive weight, the splintering wood cutting into her soft exposed flesh. Ummah coughed faintly, turning a cherry red face towards the girl.

"No…" it was barely audible as hissing flames lashed out angrily, reminding them time was running out.

_Yeah, no is right!_ Jasmine couldn't give up that easily. Ummah was dying, so many were. Vada probably too. Ummah said this would happen, that Dracul's former gang would come and destroy her and all she had. It couldn't be coincidence this was happening the very next day. This was all Jasmine's fault. She should've never come here to begin with. Should've never let Jafar kill Dracul, or Ummah and Vada stay here another night. All the things Jasmine thought of that she should've done differently plagued her heart and she refused to let go of Ummah without a fight.

What sort of Queen would run away and cower? Not the mother of this nation. Not the advocate or friend or woman she was determined to be. Jasmine dug her back deeper into the wood and clenched her teeth so hard it felt they might shatter.

"No, stupid child – go!" Ummah swatted airily with the only free arm.

After a third and useless attempt to remove the weight, Jasmine fell on her knees, the fabric tearing around her caps amongst the rubble. Jasmine crawled hands and knees to Ummah, and tears fell form the Queen's face.

"I'm not giving up woman! So, shut up and help me lift!"

Both women cried out deeply as they gave all they had together to hoist the impeccable weight. Again, it refused to budge and Jasmine screamed at the thing punching the debris before grabbing Ummahs hand, resorting to pull Ummah out from under it. But Ummah shrieked in ghastly pain.

"My leg is caught – fucking damnit, Jasmine stop!" Ummah hacked rapidly as Jasmine fell back down to join in a fit of coughing. Jasmines eyes were burning, yet went wide upon witnessing a blackish phlegm come from Ummah's mouth.

"It's – my time," Ummah's face had blisters on it, and her eyes were swollen and red. With one last effort Ummah ripped a necklace from the folds of her neck and forced it into Jasmine's palms, "_Hers_."

Jasmine hacked and felt the world crumble around her, as the walls caved, and Jasmine wanted to give up, turning over the pendant necklace in her hand. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms were around Jasmine's waist, and dragging her from the crumbling structure.

"**_No_**!" came and inhumane screech. The last thing Jasmine seen was Ummah being crushed underneath fallen wreckage, before being tossed into the dirt packed road. Jasmine's rescuer vanished from sight before she even sat up.

Jasmine gasped for air, finding the lack of oxygen unbearable, lungs drying with starvation. She clenched the necklace thoughtlessly, and dizzied, trying to focus in on the rapid moving shadows, shapes of people, smoke and animals squealing, running about. It all looked the same for a moment, all dark and relentless.

There were guards and peasants frantically sprinting about, hollering, shouting. Women screaming and crying. Children bellowing at the top of their lungs, while men ran futility from the well to throw buckets of water on the burning ambers.

Jasmine toppled over once, but got up again, shuffling to her feet as she messily went forward, spotting a little girl in the middle of the street holding a doll as tears flooded over her dirtied face. The toddler screamed, frozen stiff where she stood, and Jasmine reached the girl, falling to her knees as she took the child in her arms. The baby's hollering muffled as Jasmine pressed her soot covered bosom into the child, patting wild hair and holding her close as if she were her own.

"Shh – Shh little one." Jasmine calmed, but the smallest whisper wreaked havoc on her throat and Jasmine was afraid she too would break down crying. Jasmine peered about the overcrowded streets for a woman or father looking for a lost child. But instead of finding a grieving parent, Jasmine was met with a stampeded of men on horseback, their blue and black uniforms looking gravely familiar; their ominous features accented by the way their dark eyes were revealed through veiled faces.

A man ushered his steed to step out ahead, indicating he was the leader of the pack, and Jasmine shakily looked up as he revealed his face. He was pale, much paler than even the Kingsley's and had a massive scar on the left side. When he smiled, it sent spiked pricks down her spine one vertebrae at a time, both his canines golden and sharp like razors.

"Lookey here men, a desert flower in full bloom. And I've just the tool to _pluck_ it," he made a kissing motion to Jasmine and the men chuckled in scattered noises.

Fires raged on, but had quieted a little now, the firmer structures of clay pausing the spread as commoners worked still, tossing water and dirt.

"What do you want!" Jasmine rang out raggedly, coughing at the ashen burn of her throat.

"_You'll_ do nicely," the brute said pointing a jagged sword in her direction, when Razoul and several other guards stood in front of the Queen, their own weapons forthright.

"You dare to speak to our Queen that way!? To ransack our city!? Get off the horse coward – and fight like a real man!" Razoul barked, hiding his own injuries as he took a warrior's stance.

But the man just chided throatily, looking back at his gaggle of men and down again at the captain of the guards.

Jasmine stood now, finding strength renewed, no matter how meager, and pushed past the brawny men that covered her like a shield. The little girl followed behind Jasmine, and was trembling though silent.

"Who are you that you would seek to declare war on my city. On the innocent lives of my people!?" She was furious and couldn't still the shaking of her voice.

The man gleamed wickedly and gave a two-finger wave at the child behind the Queen. The toddler whimpered and ducked back behind Jasmine's legs.

"Your highness, _the Queen_," he bowed his head mockingly flashing another smile. "I am a ruler myself." He chortled, "The King of Thieves!" He proudly announced and there were echoes from the gang as they prided their title.

Yup. No coincidence at all. Ummah said this would happen…but Jasmine hadn't taken it seriously. Hadn't told Jafar about it afraid he'd be angry with her. Now more than ever Jasmine owned this as her own doing, and the lives lost from this would forever stain her hands.

"Rahman…" she managed unable to think clear on anything else in such a shattered state, "The boy that came to you about Dracul…Where is he?"

The king of thieves cackled gruffly finding humor to whatever Jasmine said, and he made a squeaking noise with his tongue against his dirtied teeth.

"I demand – you tell me where he is!" Her voice cracked from rage and pain. But despite her harshest look and the numerous gathering guards, the brute shrugged and gave a signal with his hand, covering his face again as the gang rallied around the city once in unison, before exiting altogether, disappearing from the city.

The crying and crumbling of charcoaled wood took residence again. Jasmine's eyes burned despite the flood of tears that came as she blinked, begging her quivering body to still. A calloused paw reached out though she could hardly hear Razoul's advice for her to go inside the palace. That she didn't belong out here and it was too dangerous.

Jasmine reentered reality at the tugging of her pants, causing her to scoop up the little child. The babe wrapped stubby legs and arms around her rescuer while laying down on Jasmine's shoulder. It came as second nature, though Jasmine had never held a child before; hand cradling the back of the girl's tiny head in comfort, as a forearm supporting her bottom. Jasmine spoke shakily to Razoul.

"Razoul…I will not be told _again_ where my place is. Do you understand?"

He nodded and sheathed his sword waiting for orders.

Jasmine looked around hazily, biting back the tears that threatened to spill over.

"We need to find survivors and help the injured. The physician should still be in the palace, and there is an alchemist or someone with herbs for breathing... or wounds."

Razoul nodded mentally taking note of everything needed.

"W-We need…water. And blankets. Food and a place to tend to the injured, and whatever other supplies you can get."

He opened his mouth but shut it quickly at the look she gave.

"Yes, my Queen. Say no more, the guards and I will get all we can from the palace...?" He repeated as more of a question than a confident statement. After Jasmine nodded exhaustedly though, Razoul knew he'd understood correctly, and set off, barking orders, and heading to find supplies. Jasmine rocked the little girl as her tears freely fell and landed atop the mass of unruly brown hair.

* * *

_Jasmine…_

It came so faint Jafar didn't know if he had actually said her name or merely thought it, all senses dulled upon viewing billows of black smoke and dull flames from a distance. It was barely evening, but it looked like a starless midnight sky, and before he could think, Jafar reacted. Ramming his steed in the side Jafar rode hard across the barren plains and towards Agrabah, never slowing the animal until he had found the heart of his city. All the usual vibrant colors had blackened, buildings crumbled or burnt out into nothingness while ash flittered like dirty flakes of snow, infesting the air. Elijah had fallen far behind but Jafar forgotten the man altogether the instant Agrabah's chaos had come into view.

His regal form stiffened, heart slowing in shallow beats as the panting horse trotted through wreckage and filthy broken peasants. Whoever had done this Jafar would slice from head to toe and flay their skin. But before Jafar could think further on what'd happened in his absence, he had caught and lost his breath all at once when the familiarity of an angelic voice sounded above all the other noises.

_There's no way in hell…Surely that woman was not so stupid to disobey me. Again._

Quickly spotting her in the square, Jasmine was seated in a setup of pillars and some floor boards, as injured laid on cots or the wooden ground; Countless vague faces coughing, crying softly, or seemingly dead. Though she faced his direction, Jasmine hadn't seen Jafar approaching; her attention solely on a tiny child in her lap.

The horse came a few feet closer, and from there Jafar saw his queen was covered in grime and blood; her clothes torn and hair disheveled with a thick layer of soot and sweat. As she proceeded to give the toddler a drink of water and a kiss atop her curly head, the sight sent a sharp pang through his core, forcing him to act impulsively without consent. Jafar dismounted, rushing through the jumble and across the makeshift structure with pulse throbbing in his head.

Then, Jafar fell to his knees before his wife.

The sudden appearance jolted Jasmine and the little girl. Jasmine blinked at the man once, frightful eyes full of worry and confusion. In her pupils Jafar saw his own ashen reflection and noticed he too looked just as terrified and panicked; and he fought for control over the forbidden emotions.

However, when he tried to yell, or scream at her for disobeying him, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and nothing came out. The moments passed painfully slow as neither made a move, then, the estranged silence was broken by the woman.

"Nivea… honey."

Jafar looked down to the child in Jasmine's lap then again to his wife who spoke solely to the girl.

"This is the Sultan, sweetie. He's not going to hurt you."

_No, I won't. But **you**, my dear, are not out of the clear._

Jasmine gave a cracked smile and Jafar grimaced lightly, noticing blood on her split lip.

"I'm going to speak with him, alright? I'll be back, don't be afraid – Oh." Jasmine choked back shaken emotions as Nivea wrapped short arms around her neck, returning the child's embrace before breaking it off.

The sight might've warmed lesser men, but for Jafar he merely found the affections between the two chilling. It reminded him how he too had clung to Jasmine's neck before. Only he had wrung it until she'd soiled herself and nearly died. Amidst all that had happened today Jafar did not care for the brutal reminder.

"I'll take the lass," Geraldine appeared out of nowhere to scoop the hesitant child in her strong arms. But the chef's smile fell into a scowl as she looked down on the Sultan, "Where she will be safe from harm," then stuck her nose in the air, turning away with the babe.

The Sultan darkened at the audacity of the beefy Irishwoman. _I have a pair of shackles in the dungeon I would love to introduce you to, woman._

But before he could act on it, Jasmine touched Jafar's shoulder lightly, causing him to become painfully aware of the degrading position on his knees. Why _had_ he done such a humiliating thing to begin with? He rose and followed after the little woman before catching up to take her by the arm and force them further away from the crowd.

Jasmine's mouth opened to speak but he didn't want to talk. Not yet.

Instead, Jafar clumsily ravaged Jasmine's body, possessively and frantically searching her from head to toe. She'd appeared well enough from a glance, but he'd leave no inch untouched. The Sultan forced Jasmine to look down as he checked her scalp, temples, eyes, neck, chest, belly and thighs. It wasn't sexual in the least, but it seemed to make Jasmine gasp with a slight blush.

"I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely still finding her throat scorched. Then her argument dissipated when Jafar's hands found her back and she jumped giving a pained groan of pure agony as her eyes tightened.

Jafar paled and guided her to turn around so her back faced him.

He lost his breath and she heard it.

"W – what is it? I'm fine, Jafar –."

"– No, you're not." He hissed more angrily than intended.

There were large gashes all over her back, one of them rather deep by the looks of it, and on her shoulders too, along with burns and splinters.

Jafar walked around to her front, never easing the intensity of his raging gaze. He took her hands as gently as possible, barely touching the skin to turn them palms up, the backs of her hands resting in his own. She had blisters and red sores there as well. The sight forcing his nostrils flare.

_I should never have left. Check that, **Jasmine** never should've disobeyed me!_

This ordeal was beyond outrageous and any means of punishment he planned to unleash upon her would be justifiable. Albeit once more, despite himself, Jafar couldn't yell at her. Couldn't smack the girl or lash out. She was shaking and looking up at him with a glossy, doe-eyed, expression. To make things more deplorable, a deep weakness counseled Jafar to kiss away her tear streaked face and carry her off in his arms back to safety. Back towards home where no one and nothing could ever harm Jasmine again.

"You…" Jafar grit his teeth, unable to spew anything other than blackened tar from his heart, "_Stupid_, foolish, little girl!"

Jasmine withdrew tender hands defiantly but was unable to keep the hurt from her eyes.

"I told you to stay _inside_ the palace! _Inside, Jasmine! _Where you belong!"

"_Someone_ had to be here for them…_Someone_ had to look after Agrabah!"

He ignored the statement and straightened, looking past as if she were beneath him. But in reality, he couldn't handle her desperate eyes which told him he had failed as a ruler…and a husband.

"Go. Home. Mouse. No one needs you. Take my horse and –."

"You're worthless," she interrupted bitterly, looking more defiant than ever. Jafar huffed angrily unable to avoid her any longer. "But hey," Jasmine took a step back rising wounded hands, "I've learned to never expect anything more than what you're capable of. Which is usually _nothing_."

She spun away to head back to the work she'd begun, and Jafar went to stop her. The massive hand landing on her bare shoulder forced her to cry out at the pain shooting through her body at his touch. As he came around front, denying Jasmine the right to leave, Jafar grimaced cursing himself for forgetting her wounds.

"What was that?" Jasmine chortled repulsed by Jafar's expression, "Don't act human now Jafar…you like me in pain, right? You're only sorry you weren't the one to inflict it this time. Yeah go ahead glare at me, then smack me across the face, I don't care anymore what you – ah!"

The rising shouts were stolen away, along with her breath, as Jafar swiftly took her by the face, suddenly closing the distance between them, her neck and back arching to meet his impending height. The terror was evident in her eyes as he searched them angrily, his own conflicting emotions spiraling out of control as they both wondered if he would hurt her or simply kiss her.

Jafar knew Jasmine needed stitches; along with rest, medicine, water, food, and more rest. Thinking about her injuries as he held her face forced him to tremble with fury. He hated her for doing this to herself, and for what!? A pack of heathens and whores. Jafar had waited too long to make Jasmine his, and now that she finally was, the damn witch sought to get herself killed. It took all he had not to crush the bones in her face. He _did_ want to inflict more pain, only to make a lasting impression that would deter her from ever doing a foolish thing like this again.

More than ever Jafar feared Jasmine would never learn, and one day would force him past the point of no return. Was she so naïve, so blinded by ideals of heroism that she could not see he exerted control over everything for her safety and the wellbeing of Agrabah? Though he was harsh, though he had deeply twisted methods for handling things, everything he had ever done had been for this kingdom. And now her. Yet, Jasmine continued to betray him at every possible turn.

Jafar took another step inward, Jasmine's trembling hands lifting to his wrists as their midsections meshed together; beautiful eyes fluttered as a shaky breath forced her firms breasts to swell against him. It was clear he could affect her just as much as she did him; her essence filling Jafar to the brim, bombarding him with a detestable desire to hold and kiss her lovingly. The thought of such an act was repulsively weak. He struggled to purge the feelings, but that only made them roar louder in his chest, warming the cool stiffness of his calloused heart.

But again, he found himself tongue tied and without a voice for compassion.

* * *

When he hadn't hurt her, but merely took her in his hands, Jasmine's strength dissolved. She couldn't keep up the tough act anymore. There was so much to tell him. Though she preferred anyone else in the world to talk with, Jafar was apparently all to be given. She wanted to tell him Ummah had died, and it was all her fault. That she'd witnessed Vada lose a damn eyeball, and had seen so much blood and melted flesh that she hadn't had a moment without shock induced adrenaline, and her spirit was weak from it. Jasmine needed to tell him there was a boy named Rahman and that he might also be dead too. All of this, because of her. She knew he was angry for her disobeying, but this had nothing to do with him. Or them. It was all about how she had let Agrabah down and was powerless to protect anyone, including herself.

She wanted to cry, to run and hide. To bury her face in Jafar's strong chest and cling to him for safety all while pushing him away and blaming him for all of this. (Even if it was impractical to blame him for _every_ misfortune.)

More than anything, Jasmine was tired of being strong, tired of trying to figure out who she was all while the world kept changing around her, refusing to play by the rules of a happily ever after. It was childish she knew, but Jasmine _was_ still a child. She'd only turned sixteen a few months ago, but it felt a lifetime had passed and kept dragging her down over and over. The journey had been relentless and she needed a rock to lean on.

But nothing came out. Tongue growing fat in her mouth as the bones felt tight beneath her skin and Jasmine wanted to fall over in defeat. To let Jafar see just how torn down she was from inside out and how she didn't think she could keep going on any longer.

But again…She said nothing.

"Jafar!" The shrill high pitched whine of Henrietta shot Jasmine's eyes wide open.

Her Majesty drew a ragged breath, still face to face with her erratic and unreadable spouse, who kept her centimeters from his parted lips. If only the world would fade away for a moment more, and leave them in peace. But it was not so as Ettie called again stepping closer, any romanticized notions dissipating when it was clear Jasmine would never feel safe enough to open up to Jafar. Elijah had finally caught up and was now more out of breath than the mare; horse led by the reigns to step near Henrietta, who kept trudging wearily towards the royals.

"Jafar, it was horrible!" Henrietta's voice broke, and with it, Jafar's trance as he let go of his wife.

Both rulers turned to face Ettie, who looked beyond distraught and frail as her pale green dress became muddled and dirty with ash. She gasped loudly as part of the hem tore on a plank of wood, and Jasmine scoffed inwardly.

With all the destruction, Ettie was more concerned with fashion.

"Are those... from the _palace_?" Elijah pointed appalled as dirtied street rats nuzzled up with silk and cotton blankets. Jafar turned at the waist following Elijah's line of sight, but before he could respond himself to seeing royal belongings passed out, Jasmine had gone forward to address both Kingsley's.

"Is there a problem, Elijah, with how I chose to look after my people?"

Elijah grinned saying, "The worst form of quality is to try and make _unequal_ things," a nod towards the street rats, "equal."

_Unbelievable. _"You have no right to speak over my decisions, how dare you –."

"You take me all wrong your Majesty. I simply quote Aristotle. Nothing more…"

Jasmine had so much to say, or rather would've if her brains weren't already scrambled from so much trauma, and she simply pushed past Jafar and returned to her previously started work. Jasmine came and knelt beside an older woman with white tendrils of hair. She was hacking something horrible, and Jasmine took a clay saucer of herbs and dipped her fingers into the mesh, rubbing the victim's boney chest with it.

Unbeknownst to Jasmine, the Sultan had given a quick threatening word to Elijah, leaving the man stunned and a little shaken, then followed after his wife. He guided her to stand, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

"Jasmine… go inside the palace. It's _not_ a request," he spoke briskly seeing her try to protest, "Now come… you've done more than enough – I will exact revenge on whoever did this, but you need to leave. You don't belong out here, little wife"

It seemed she understood, but when he attempted to pull her away he'd failed, her tiny hands slipping out of his grasp. Jasmine saw the flash of fury split across and in a motherly way Jasmine cupped the side of his angular face, her thumb gently rubbing the prominent cheekbone. It had shocked herself at how she reacted, and clearly it surprised Jafar too; her soft touch making his breathing shallow as she stepped in to search his eyes.

He was mad, but that was always the case. This time however, Jasmine thought she felt something different emanating from Jafar. He looked helpless, almost _begging_ her as if concerned with her safety. Though he never spoke it, the depths of his eyes were revealed as the wall cracked momentarily, allowing her passage into his deepest thoughts.

"I will _not_ go inside."

Jafar's mouth opened in a snarl, but the fight in him suddenly evaporated as her small hands pressed to his lips, tenderly quieting him.

"I _know_ where my place is Jafar. It's right here." She smiled faintly, mouth dry and splitting but still beautiful. "You go where _you_ belong," Jasmine nodded behind him to where Ettie now sat with her father on the mare.

"Jafar," she called his attention back, his thick brows tucking in silent vexation as he met her again, "This wasn't your fault."

His chest tightened and he impulsively wanted to smack someone. She had seen behind his walls and it pissed him off to no end.

"It's okay," she continued, seemingly without a trace of repulsion at his weakness, "Go inside. I'm fine being with my people."

"You need medical attention." All teeth were showing as he bared them in a low growl.

"So, do they. Most more than me. Go. Please," her final words were what hit him hardest, "Ettie needs you. Go be with her."

The look Jafar gave to that was priceless, as she'd never seen him make it before. But Jasmine remained steadfast, turning away to now tend to a man with a busted head. A few minutes passed when she felt Jafar's presence leave the station, but she didn't look to see. After another moment, the horses whinnied and took off towards the palace.

This morning she hated her husband and found him appalling, but now all she could feel was numbness. Weak tingles of numbness. She cared for Jafar, and in her weakest moments she kept finding herself hoping that he would be the rock she needed. And now she found frustration with herself for even imagining he was capable of doing something selfless for others. That he could show a shred of mercy and love without personal gain. He had taken her advice and gone with Ettie. Where he belonged. Though she'd told him to do just that, she found herself unable to look back at the distant horses and see it for herself. It was too disappointing.

Jasmine stood from wrapping a man's bloodied head, and took a rag to clean her hands when a deep velvety voice rang out, ripping her from the plaguing thoughts; orders being barked out from a distance. Jasmine spun on her heel, the velocity making her dizzy and the sight causing her pulse to quicken.

Jafar, down to just a shirt and pants, with sleeves rolled up, was in the wreckage with a few other men, ordering them to grab either side of a massive beam. More than that, he too had dug down into a squatting positon taking hold of the charcoaled timber. He counted to three, and all five men dug deep and lifted, stepping to the side until they could drop it safely back to the ground.

The queen stumbled a little, stepping out off the boards and into the dirt packed road as she blinked rapidly, trying to clear the ash from her eyes. _Allah, if this is a trick of the mind it isn't funny._

But, it remained true, Jafar now covered in soot and mud as he grabbed the hand of a teenage boy and aided him to stand; the boy's mother helped up by others. When Jafar finished the task, he met her gaze from across the street; their eyes locking with such intensity Jasmine could feel a wave of heat even at such a great distance. He gave a crooked smile and sent an adorable wink to her, before recomposing leadership and returning to help the other men.

Jasmine's body jolted with the harsh laugh that escaped, her heart flickering with a small light. It was faint, and timid, but it had been struck all the same; it's glow warming her belly while making her head fuzzy. For a bit, longer Jasmine couldn't pull away from the sight of him; Jafar wiping sweat from his brow leaving a line of soot. Apparent muscles flexing beneath his clothing. Though she knew he must hate this, he took to the manual labor like second nature, proving he had once been a hardworking and strong young man.

Her daydreams from that morning were replaced with a new image. A young Jafar, working hard, supporting himself, or a family perhaps. He had loved once. He had been an innocent child before. Somewhere along the way something had gone terribly wrong, and even if it was from the Sultana or a hundred other things, Jasmine no longer seemed to care. In this moment, Jafar was a man worthy of being redeemed. And she allowed that sliver of hope to enter unashamed, as she held her fluttering heart, and turned back to her own duties.


	17. Chapter 17: Let It Be Known

_Agrabah 1689_

She had a comely figure which was thin – chestnut eyes beckoning; hair a glorious tumble of midnight waves. Still, the sultry manner, nor the slim curvilinear of her waist, couldn't faze him. Jafar had seen her sprawled out like this many a times over the last eight years. He knew what laid beneath those silk dressings and golden jewels. A black hollow pit. Much like him.

Currently, Sultana Sahara was protesting Jafar's leaving for England.

"Must you go? Stay with me, Eashiq."

"It's what the sultan deems best. Besides, it's only for a few months, my Queen."

Sultana propped up on her side, clearly vexed, "The sultan… is an **_idiot_**."

"He's still my master and I'm – just his ward." he spoke dryly, packing a few last robes in a sack bag.

During the first several years living in the palace Jafar had been a gardener. He'd done quite a bit of architectural work and soon became chief designer for the royal palace. He'd made the Arabian garden ethereal and a delicate design which was an intrinsic contrast to the hostile environment beyond the walls. It had filled a void for a while, Jafar breaking into the earth anytime his mother's corpse came into mind. The distraction of work welcoming along with the time spent with Sultana. She had helped him forget the most.

Albeit, euphoria, as of late, had dulled in sensation – Jafar, now twenty-four, and a full grown man, needed more than whipping and branding whores. Visions of death, and the desire to inflict _excruciating_ pain on others, were rather vivid. Usual pacifications were proving trivial – including the Sultana. Though she was a stunning, powerful, woman he had begun to grow tired of her constant demands. What once felt wanton, causing awe struck wonder, now deemed monotonous. It didn't fill him anymore, and as the viperous woman splayed herself before him in protest, the visions of exacting pain on her were growing nearly out of control. The trip to England looked more appealing than ever.

"You're **_my_** ward, not that imp of a man's." Sultana rolled on her backside, propping up on her elbows as her legs fell apart to reveal dusky curls, "Don't believe me? Come to bed, Eashiq, and serve your mistress."

Jafar set down his last robe and fastened the baggage, turning to Sahara with a crooked smile. He knelt down on the edge of the cushions, placed his hands on her knee caps, then forced her legs shut. Sultana huffed, annoyed.

"If I am ever going to be anything _more_ than a simple minded servant of an _imp_, then I need to prove I can be. This is the first time he's entrusted me with traveling abroad, and if I do well on this trip, I may be given more responsibilities. More _power_."

"I have all the power needed for us both." She twisted her hand gracefully until there was a spool of fire in her palm. It danced for a moment then flickered out.

Jafar stood and wagged a thin finger, large knuckles accenting their gruffness, "Ah-ah. You already know I want power for myself, _Eashiq_," he drawled the pet name, "yet you constantly refuse to teach me."

"That's because if I did you would leave!"

"I'm leaving, _now_." He laughed throatily, ignoring her angered face as she got up and crossed her arms. "You can't control this, woman. No matter how much you –."

– Whack –

His cheek smarted where a ringed hand had struck. But he hadn't flinched.

Sultana quirked a brow then went towards the window, fingering her armlets as she watched the city. "Men…You're all the same. Hate when a woman is in control in any way. If it wasn't for me, _boy_, you would have starved in the streets. I should've turned you away that night and let the guards have their way with you."

Same old mantra. He had heard it a million times. Each saga losing its sting. He knew she could never be rid of him. Jafar knew he was her weakness, though would never let on about it. So, he played along.

Jafar came from behind and smoothed her thin shoulder's, kissing her neck with soft sensuality.

"It's only three months my Queen. No doubt you'll find another toy to torture until my return. Hmm?"

She smiled wickedly and turned in his arms, pulling him in for a kiss before releasing him, "Even if you're a world away from Agrabah, I still own you, Jafar. Never forget that."

His nostrils flared as he faked a smile, "Then you better give me something to remember you by."

Sultana pursed red lips, shoving him from her chest and then again to force him back on the cushions. When she came to straddle him, Jafar rolled her over, lifted her skirts, and then fucked her the usual way. Rough and quick.

When he'd finished, Jafar headed out with bag in tow. He bid farewell to the Sultan, then reluctantly accepted a leg hug from the tiny princess, before boarding the ship to England.

* * *

_England 1689_

It had been two weeks since Jafar arrived at house Kingsley. Elijah was odd. The foods were odd. _England_ was odd. Though Sultan Hamed had taught Jafar English, and a couple other languages, for the last several years, Jafar found it difficult to put into practice. His accent and dressings causing everyone to look upon him with disdain. As if he were a spectacle or some heathen. Jafar couldn't help but think that if he were wearing robes of royalty their transgressions towards him would be less judgmental.

Elijah was a man of few words. When he did speak it was often quick and grumbled; thick mustache clearly weighing down his lips and keeping them from full pronunciation. Plus, he smelled like tobacco and mint leaves. A smell of which Jafar was sure would forevermore make him nauseated.

Still, he settled in fairly well remaining steadfast in his tasks and focused.

Until the following week when Miss Henrietta Rose Kingsley had come home from her aunt's – where she was studying and learning to become a proper lady. When Jafar first saw the waves of blonde hair and wintery blue eyes, he was enamored. He had never seen a girl so beautiful before; and radiating such innocence. An innocence which would surely be destroyed should he allow himself to get too close to her.

Jafar had been brief in shaking her hand and steered clear of her the rest of the day.

At dinner that night, Henrietta hadn't taken her eyes off Jafar once as Elijah and he were discussing business.

Elijah started, "Jafar, how well versed are you with the history of your own kind?"

"Well, sir, I – ."

"Since the 1500s the Ottoman Empire had not changed as much as the West. It had no longer been just courage, handmade steel or archery that saw an army to win a war. They lagged in technology, boy and what had advanced the middle east economically through war, had ultimately become an economic _drain_. Your country's ability to wage war has always been what drove their income. Now, since that income is gone, Agrabah needs this trade, not to mention our money, more than Europe does. With that said, your Sultan Hamish –."

"– Hamed."

"Is not in a position to demand this much coin for your product. I'm a business man, and ruthless. I love money and power," he glanced towards the girl at his left, "And my darling daughter. Those that try to cheat me from any one of those do not get my business." That was that as he popped the end of a pipe under his mustache.

Henrietta was watching Jafar through hooded eyes from across the table, and it made Jafar uncomfortable. He cleared his throat.

"Sir, correct me if I am wrong, but Europe seems to be falling behind the West as well?"

Elijah grumbled inaudibly, gripping the fat of his pipe as he sucked feverishly.

"But I can foresee what others may not. Europe could be a leading industry, and to do so, Europe will rely heavily on trade. Cotton and wool are essential productions, and without our raw supply of both, Europe's rate of progression will be curbed. Not to mention it will surely affect agriculture as well, and that too will develop much more slowly." Jafar hadn't known for sure if he spoke truthfully about the upcoming future, but had sounded absolutely confident in his premonition.

Elijah took a breath, then nodded a few moments after, turning his constant frown into a quirked smile as he shoved a hand out for Jafar to shake.

"Throw in two dozen crates of spices, and we have a deal."

Jafar smiled happily accepting the deal, and then reached for a roll in front of him. Elijah was rambling on but Jafar's attention had been averted. Henrietta's petite hand had dove for the same platter and had landed her hand on top of his. The sudden touch nearly made him jump from his seat, as his skin grew gooseflesh. Henrietta smiled innocently, batting her eyes. Jafar, on the other hand, had lost an appetite for sweet bread as he retracted his hand and made sure to avoid her the rest of the meal. For the rest of the summer too, if at all possible.

But it _hadn't_ been possible. Jafar couldn't ignore Henrietta for she never gave him the opportunity. Her persistence impeccably vexing as she followed him _everywhere_ he went. Even when he'd gone to use the chamber pot. On more than one account Jafar would have to direct her to leave, reminding the girl that he needed privacy.

Despite himself he grew used to her company over time, and soon began taking walks with her every day along the same trail, by the same pond, and past the same fruit bushes. As they went, Henrietta would tell him everything about herself. From her favorite color, to the dog at her aunt's home and even some dark secrets about her mother and why she had left. Jafar never opened up to her, even when she would hug him and tell him he could trust her. He didn't think she would betray him, still, the concept of trust, or even love made him shudder. Instead he listened patiently to each of her tales. Held her hand around the crook of his arm, and smiled when she told a joke, or grew solemn when she would become teary eyed when speaking about painful memories.

Near the end of summer, atop a bed of green grass and a blanket of midnight sky, Henrietta gave him her virginity. The next day Jafar and her had approached Elijah. The rambunctious, head strong, girl had declared they would run away together if necessary – before giving her father the chance to absorb the information of a marriage proposal. In response, Jafar gently quieted her and took Elijah aside to properly ask for permission to wed his daughter. The Londoner was hesitant at first, but after Jafar agreed to move to England and work for Elijah, the couple had Mr. Kingsley's blessing.

* * *

"I have to do this alone, Henrietta. You know that."

"I don't care Jafar. I'm going to be your wife soon, and that means I go, wherever you go,"

Jafar had been boarding a ship set for Agrabah. He fully intended to marry Henrietta, but first had to settle things with the Sultan. Hamed had, after all, looked after Jafar from the time he was a child and he owed the ruler as much as an explanation for leaving forever. He forbade Henrietta from coming on this journey, but she remained stubborn, as always, and had shown up on the docks. Bags packed and ticket in hand. He couldn't say no to her, and followed after. Trudging up the plank with a tinge of fear for how the Sultana would take the news.

* * *

_Agrabah 1689_

Their trip had gone well. Although rather long considering Henrietta hadn't stopped jumping up and down once over the duration. Even as they landed on Agrabah soil, Henrietta all but hyperventilated with excitement; and Jafar had to nearly drag her along to keep from talking to every person in the streets. Within minutes all of Agrabah had known that a strange foreigner had landed; stirring further urgency that their visit needed to be done post haste. If Agrabah knew, Sultana already knew too.

"Well of course you have my blessing boy!" The rounded man with grey hair jumped off his elephant throne and embraced Jafar at his waist, Jafar rigid while patting Hamed on the back. "There is nothing greater than love, Jafar. You remember that, my boy." He wagged a finger, playfully warning Jafar to heed his advice.

Jafar smiled in the fake way he had come accustomed to. Love was a rather large, moreover, treacherous word. Being accused of such a thing forced splinters through his chest. Jafar cared deeply for Henrietta, naturally, and was pleased to envision a life with her. But being in love was a whole other thing of which Jafar was incapable of.

Hamed then turned to Henrietta, and took her in a warm embrace, kissing her cheek as she returned the affection. The whites of their eyes disappearing through over grown smiles, both overjoyed and spewing plans about a future, and a wedding, and babies. The latter forcing Jafar to become frightened and change the subject.

"Sire, where is the sultana. I had hoped to deliver the message to the _both_ of you…" _That way there could be less room for blatant violence._

"Oh…well. Um, disappeared again, I'm afraid…er, I'm sure she'll come down soon enough." He laughed nervously. "Come my darling, let me introduce you to the finest Arabian cuisine."

Henrietta went gladly with her newfound elderly friend, practically skipping towards the dining hall. Her jubilance causing Jafar to chuckle. Jafar waited for a long moment until the two had gone, and groaned inwardly. Then made way to find Sultana.

He had confronted her in the opium din, where she was sprawled out ceremonially, sucking away on hookah. After he had finished telling her all that needed to be said, she remained austere as if never hearing a word. It was when he'd turned to leave that she said anything at all.

"Do you love her?"

He scoffed turning back around. She already knew the answer to that question.

"Does she love _you_?" she blew an 'O' shaped ring, finally meeting Jafar's darkened stare.

Still he refused to speak. Sultana had a way of twisting words, and he was dead set in his decision to leave. In England he could grow. Here, there was nothing for him, other than whores and an eternity of servitude.

Her voice was honeyed though she gave a look which betrayed all innocence. "If you don't love her. And you can't accept the love she has for you, why do you entertain this illusion of marriage? You'll never be happy there."

"You don't know what will make me happy." Jafar spoke low but crisply.

Red satin that had gathered at her hips now cascaded down shapely legs, pooling around her feet as she stood. Sultana's walk slow, predatory, seductive. "This is about my powers isn't it? About your position in Agrabah."

He jutted his chin, peering down the length of his nose, "This is about me and my future wife. Nothing else –."

"Save it!" She snapped. "I understand your game, Eashiq. I understand … _you_." She stabbed an accusing finger in his chest then ran her tongue over a sharp canine as if in thought. "Very well, Jafar. Stay with me, and be rid of that little whore, and I shall give you the things you have craved all of your life."

Jafar inhaled briefly closing his eyes as she kept a clawed hand to his torso and circled him slowly.

"I will teach you _everything_ I know about magic. Tell you the stories of wonders beyond your wildest dreams." She stopped behind him and raised slightly to whisper in his ear, "And I will appoint you Grand Vizier of the Sultan, giving you power and authority over Agrabah. And someday, even the Sultan may bow before you."

His cock twitched at the thought of all she offered. Skin prickling in gooseflesh. Tastebuds tingling from the power of which she spoke.

Nevertheless, Jafar's fantasy dispersed as experience shook him back to reality. The sultana was a liar and manipulator. A woman who would say anything to get her way; her word and honor as futile as searching for Alibaba's treasure. The instant he turned Ettie away, Sultana would laugh in his face and throw him in the dungeon. He would not be so easily fooled.

"I admit, you know me far better than any other has. Or any other will again." He grinned, spinning around to take her by the meat of her arms. "But I do _love_ Henrietta, and I am going to marry her. There is nothing, and no one left for me in Agrabah. Understand, _Eashiq_…?"

The muscles of her neck strained as he roughly let go of her then moved past. She hissed under her breath, "We'll see about that," while turning fire over in her hands as she watched Jafar disappear towards the dining hall.

After dinner there was an array of merriment and entertainment prepared for the Sultan's guest. Dancers and acrobats all tumbling in the throne room while a troupe played on an array of instruments. Henrietta was grinning ear to ear, clapping along when a dancer pulled Henrietta by the hand and led her to the floor to dance with them. Her childlike wonderment shone brighter than ever as she moved with her newfound friends; her laugh contagious as it infected Jafar and Hamed. The young man clapped along with the music, keeping his eye on the little woman. He didn't love her yet. But, for the first time in months, he believed he actually could grow to.

Henrietta ran back to Jafar and kissed him sweetly on the lips. "I have to powder my nose," she giggled rubbing her nose on Jafar's.

"The room is down the hall, Ettie. Would you like me to take you?"

She got up from his lap and kissed his rough hand, "Nonsense. Stay and enjoy the music. I'll be right back."

There was a check in his gut, but Jafar pushed it down, watching her gloved fingers slip from his hand as she headed out through the grandeur doors. Although he knew he shouldn't worry, and that Sultana wouldn't try anything with so many witnesses around, Jafar felt the gnawing of fear. It's persistence ravenous the longer that Ettie took to return.

Soon he could bare it no longer and excused himself to search for her. When she wasn't found in the garderobe he looked in the opium din, then in the Sultana's private room. All of which were barren. Then, lastly, he headed for his secret room in the tower; and there he found Sultana and Henrietta – the latter strapped to an iron table, which was raised at a forty-five degree angle. Blonde tendrils of hair quivered as she sobbed hysterically.

Sultana held a jagged dagger, casually keeping its edge to a pale throat; seemingly expectant of Jafar's arrival.

"You're just in time Jafar. My new toy and I were just having a discussion."

He remained frozen. Sultana's eyes locked on him even as she spoke to Henrietta.

"If love is strength then tell me, little one... Why has Jafar never told you about his whore mother?"

Henrietta closed her eyes not wanting to see Jafar's, "I – I, don't. It doesn't..."

"Did he tell you that she slit her own wrists because of him?" Sultana nearly licked Henrietta's lobe with how closely she purred against her trembling flesh, "That she slit her throat because she could no longer stand the sight of her bastard son."

"Sahara, stop…" his voice broke. A tremble of rage covering his skin, like the tremor on the surface of a pot of water about to boil.

But Sultana fed off his radiating fury, pressing the blade a little deeper into Henrietta's skin. Threatening to break the flawless milky texture. "He's killed to you know?"

Jafar all but barked, "That was an accident!"

"Mm – he loved it, little one. And he'll kill again. Maybe next time, it will be you."

Blue eyes blinked away salted fluid. A bubble of fear rising from her core, "I don't…I don't believe you!"

"Oh, you don't have to believe me sweetness. He knows I'm right."

"That's enough!" Jafar bellowed taking a step forward then stopped mid stride, as Sultana dug the blade until a small droplet of blood dribbled from Henrietta's precious throat forcing the girl to cry out.

Jafar could only beg. "Sultana. Eashiq. _Please_."

"What Jafar…I thought you _loved_ her."

She threw the words back at him having known that his earlier declaration was a lie. Sultana straightened, alleviating the pressure from the girl's throat as she spoke; the dagger continuing to point at her victim.

"And if you loved her, you wouldn't hide from her. Wouldn't keep secret who you _truly_ are."

"That's not who I am…" It was a lie. Albeit necessary to keep from breaking Henrietta's heart.

"Yes, it is," she slithered forward ensnaring Jafar with illustrious power. Her long nails scratching lightly at his neck. His eyes closed forcing her out of his head. But he failed as she hummed against his skin. "You know _what_ you are. Just as deep down you know that no one will ever be able to accept you."

Henrietta whimpered, wanting to assure Jafar otherwise, but became paralyzed with fear.

"Eashiq," she spoke softer, "This whore will offer you nothing. Europe offers you only promises of poverty and death. Love is weakness. Love is torment. I still offer everything you have ever wanted. I give my word, pledge my soul to you that everything I had promised shall come to pass. Be rid of this wench. Be rid of the weakness that continues to ensnare you – before it is too late."

Jafar closed his dark eyes trying to mentally shut down. Unfortunately that had warranted uninvited memories. There was a time when all he had ever desired was love. Since birth, since childhood. He sought it from his mother first, then from others.

After that day by the river – when the Sultan had given Jafar a name – Jafar had raced off to find the children who had otherwise shunned him. Now that he'd had a name to tell them, he was sure they would see him differently. Would love and accept him, and play with him like any other child. But it had not been so. A dozen of them had spat upon him, ripped his clothing and beat him until he was bruised with broken ribs. His mother, too, had been unforgiving when he'd come home in a flood of tears seeking help.

Still he had sought refuge with her over the years. Hoping she, of all people, would come to love him. When he was ten he had slipped up again. Jafar had carved a figure for his mother as a gift. When she'd said thank you he told her he loved her; then, before he could apologize for his actions, she had hit him over the head with the wooden sculpture and kicked him in the stomach.

At age fourteen hurtful rejection had slowly turned into bitter rage. One day, while hanging laundry in the streets, a tiff had ensued in which Jafar demanded to know why she deplored him so. Why she refused to give any shred of affection or look him in the eye. For a response she'd flogged him, ripping through his sack clothing; the level of relentless brutality making him pass out and blood to pool from his back and decorate the dirt. Though it was done publicly, not one person had helped him; in fact, the onlookers either stopped to watch the show, or simply went on with their own business.

From that day on, he had never spoken a word of love. Hadn't even dared to dream of it, afraid he would be punished by Allah and tortured for such imaginings.

Shaking away the tormenting memories, Jafar watched now from Sultana's blade over to the young girl. Sahara was right. She was always right. He could never allow himself to love Henrietta. Look where such sentiments had gotten her.

Nor would she be able to love or accept all of who he was; it was unfair to put that on such an innocent soul. In the end, love would destroy one or both of them. Though it would be painful at first, he would forget the blonde haired girl; and in turn she would forget him.

"Okay…" it was a whisper at first, and Sultana lit up vindictively.

"What was that?"

"I said _alright_!" He growled biting down on each syllable. "I agree to stay. She goes back. _Unharmed_."

The ambiance shifted into more threatening territory as Sultana turned back to the little girl. "Well, that wasn't the deal, Jafar. I said be _rid_ of the wench. And that means proving you can never go back to her or change your mind."

Jafar repressed a violent shudder detecting Sultana's blood lust. This was all his fucking fault. He never should have let Henrietta come with him.

"Shh – Shh – Shh.." Sultana cooed, pressing her breast against Ettie's. "It'll be over fast. I promise."

With that the dagger was raised overhead and brought down, Henrietta turning her face as she screamed – the plunge barely halted in time when Jafar's large grasp seized Sultana's wrist. The weapon ripped from the Queen as she hissed then spun around.

"I knew you didn't have the balls to do it. You fucking little worm!" fists tightened as she readied herself to murder both of them, but Jafar simply cooed, looking over the shining of the metal in his hands as he spoke calmly.

"On the contrary, my Queen. I possess the ability to see what you cannot."

"And what would that be?"

Jafar chewed his cheek with a glimmer in his dark eyes, moving towards Henrietta. When he spoke it was steady. Deep and certain. The complete opposite of how wrecked he was within. But he was doing this for Henrietta. There was no way out of this in which Henrietta would escape with her life. Not unless he did what was necessary.

"That there are things far worse than death."

Henrietta caught on to what he intended to do with the weapon in hand and she broke out into a sweat, trembling violently as she struggled in futility against the restraints. Henrietta begged and pleaded for him not to do this. That she loved him and didn't want to live without him.

That was the problem. And further proof that love sent people to their doom. He couldn't let her die because of him, but he couldn't let her walk away unharmed. Sultana would never allow it. In his gut he trembled uncontrollably and wanted to throw up. On the outside though, he remained collected and forced himself to put up a wall.

_Forgive me, Allah. Forgive me, sweet girl, for what I am about to do._

* * *

There was so much blood. So many tiny pieces of flesh where he had cut. The wounds clean and precise, and distinctly placed in areas that could be covered by clothing. But they were nothing compared to the scars that were forming in his heart. In hers.

After yet another piece of flesh was removed, Ettie had finally, **_finally_**, declared hatred for Jafar. Screamed bloody murder and dammed his soul to an agonizing eternity in hell. Only then had he stopped. Only then had Sultana been satisfied by her ward's obedience and agreed that Jafar would never be able to return to Henrietta again.

Sultana slithered her tongue into Jafar's throat, keeping an eye open so she could watch Henrietta further flinch and look away in heartbroken disgust. Then, she was gone from the tower, leaving Jafar to clean up and dispose of his mess.

Wordlessly, he cleaned the wounds he'd inflicted and bandaged them, while Henrietta's ashen face avoided him at all costs. When he finally finished, he resumed to be indifferent about her.

"There is a private ship waiting for you in the harbor. It's paid for in full and will take you tonight towards London. Keep your bandages clean to prevent infection."

"What do you care?" she croaked, circles ringing her tear stained eyes, "You should've just killed me."

"I just saved your life!" he spat turning on her then realized the error of his confession. She flinched conflicted, thinking over what he'd let slip.

"Come with me then. _Please_…" she sobbed.

He looked appalled by her weakness and shrunk away from her frail touch. Her naivety would be the death of her. A death in which he had just taken extreme measures to prevent. Unfortunately for them both he needed to sever her fantasy for good. Hitting deeper than a knife ever could.

"I don't love you. I could _never_ love you."

She stumbled backwards holding her stomach and heaving as if he cut out the last remaining part of her. She didn't want to believe it, but his deadpan look was without hesitation.

"I only want power. And what you offer is weakness."

"You'll regret this someday…" she whispered at first, corners of her mouth pulling downwards as she gasped for air, once more weeping from the depths of her soul. "I loved you – even still I can love you… one day you'll realize that you were wrong. That you lost _everything_!"

Though her guttural sobs came as an explosion to his gut, Jafar merely stiffened with a sharp inhale. "I'll get everything I've ever wanted. And I'll do it, _without_ your love."

With that, she had finally gone.

He watched from his tower as a guard helped Ettie safely board the ship. It wasn't until it had left the dock that Jafar fell to his knees and vomited. Violently.

* * *

Over the course of nine months Jafar had shoved Ettie from his mind. Sultana remained true to her promise, every passing day teaching him how to wield powers and manipulate elements of the earth. Although he could only do small things, she promised him that one day they would find the tiger head cave, and unlock powers beyond their wildest dreams. He studied tirelessly the forms of magic and ways to concoct potions and spells more powerful than any alchemist. Also true to her promise, Sultana convinced Hamed to appoint Jafar as Grand Vizier. Which wasn't too difficult. Hamed had loved Jafar for years, and believed him to be a bright and capable ally of the throne.

Jafar worshiped Sultana outwardly but within he loathed her for what she had made him. For what she had forced him to do all those months ago. He had thought to kill her on several occasions. A slit of the throat or the right potion would steal away her life easily. However, each time he thought of it she had surprised him with a kiss and a beautiful smile. Had given him a serpent staff to aid in his ability to control his powers, and then had discovered half of the scarab for the cave of wonders. She emanated vibrancy and darkness all in one and he realized, no matter how much he hated her, he could never harm her. After all, there was no one else in the world like him, no other person capable of accepting him for who he was, other than his Eashiq.

* * *

Hamed's union with Sahara was, naturally, arranged. Only age twelve when she'd come to him, and he eighteen. She was quiet with a thick guarded demeanor, but pleasant all the same. They never had much in common, and hardly knew each other beyond the surface. He was cordial, while she distant and closed off. Such disposition towards a husband would've angered any man. But not Hamed. He was never angry. As the years passed their relationship remained strained and was more of a formality between friends. Sultana rarely enacted wifely duties either, but Hamed endured graciously. He didn't like to pressure her, and backed off whenever she claimed to have a head ache or sour stomach. Sultan Hamed never acted out in resentment. Instead continually loved her from afar while waiting for her to come to him.

As the years went on, Sultana changed. Albeit the change that had come for the Queen was without grace or courtesy – abrupt and consuming in nature. One day, while taking her usual stroll through the streets of Agrabah, Sahara had met a witch. Sultana had commanded the palace guards to stay outside whilst she followed the enchantress into a hovel. For hours, she had remained in the witch's company. When Sahara finally returned to the palace that night there was an anomalous way to her behavior. All through dinner Sultana was overly excited while rambling on about spells, magical artifacts and ancient histories concerning sorceresses. Hamed had told her that was all nonsense and she should avoid such deceiving folks. But again, during the next several outings, Sultana had encountered the witch. Each visit turning the young queen a little darker and a bit more unusual. Then she started locking herself away in a private room for hours to read spell books and ancient scrolls – gathering all resources pertaining to spirits and powers beyond their realm.

He hadn't recognized her anymore after that. And admittedly, lost any shred of control over his wife.

Her visits to the streets had expanded to long hours of the night. Sometimes Sultana would even go missing for days at a time. Upon returning the woman smelled of wine and a musky odor would waft from her womanhood.

He never said anything. Never gave a hint of hurt. But hurt it did. Deeply. The pain was even more so when he noticed she was corrupting Jafar; forcing him along in her nightly outings.

The poor boy was a motherless child and, from what Hamed had gathered over the years, Jafar never knew what affection was. For those reasons alone Hamed could not blame a lost sixteen year old boy for any of the decisions made by Sultana. What those decisions entailed of, he wasn't entirely sure, and the uneasy worry grew on his heart like a weed.

One night Hamed had voiced his frustration by confronting Sahara. He'd told her that he wouldn't stand for the corruption she forced upon such an impressionable young boy. But in truth she frightened him, and he soon cowered down from the argument; becoming swept under the tide. For the next several months Sultan Hamed prayed that Jafar would be protected from Sahara's sorcery and would find his own path to happiness.

Roughly three years later Sultana seemed more like her old self. Although never loving, she looked at Hamed with a certain glow and began to insist they have an heir. Hamed found this as miraculous news and after several weeks of trying had been able to conceive. Another nine months and little Princess Jasmine had been born. The Sultan's heart was full of newfound love, and while his wife had turned back to a sour disposition, he found it easier than ever to dull the feeling of his crumbling marriage. Little Jasmine being all he would ever need again.

All had seemed well at peace for years. Until one evening, when Jasmine was newly five, storm clouds ruptured mercilessly and would change the Sultan's life forever.

_Agrabah 1690_

Hamed had walked into Sultana's private quarters unannounced and found his wife performing a blood magic ceremony – on their daughter. The child had been tied down by her chubby arms, little incisions in the palms of her hands which wept innocent blood. The pure fluid catching at the base into two small saucers.

Sultana was chanting. Jasmine was screaming.

The contents of Hamed's stomach lurched to the back of his teeth and he forced the bile down, stumbling in to free his daughter. He snatched Jasmine in his arms and ran out of the witches din; Sultana chasing behind in defensive protests.

"They are small incisions, they won't even leave a scar!"

Hamed couldn't listen, now nearly sprinting away from the woman. A woman he no longer recognized.

"Did Jafar know about this?" Was all Hamed muttered, never looking over his shoulder.

Sultana lengthened her strides, "Of course not! Our daughter is of no concern to him."

"So, you act alone!?" Hamed swung around, now nearly forcing the woman to tumble into him, "You _alone_ would force our child as a sacrificial babe for this black magic of yours?" Jasmine tried to look but he forced her head down on his shoulder. Away from the woman that had given her life, and yet saw to blacken it.

Sultana glowered, charcoal brows tucking as the corner of her lip curled. She owed no explanation to this pathetic coward. "Jasmine is of pure blood. Pure, **_royal_**, blood. I need it for a spell I'm perfecting. A spell that will make me more powerful than ever!"

"At what cost?! This hole you have wallowed in for years has become a bottomless pit. Always hungry. Never satisfied as it demands more of you!"

The sorceress spoke over him, hearing nothing as she defended every reasoning for power – even if it wasn't the full truth. "With new powers, I can protect our city. Our Agrabah. Of which _you_ have squandered for years!"

"You cannot blame me for your doings woman!" Hamed screamed with a powerful boom he never knew capable of. It shook his own self to the core while momentarily startling the jeweled woman. "You love your power more than you love your own flesh and blood. Admit it!"

Hamed exerted strength to calm himself, stepping back, still keeping a hand to the back of his child's head. Indeed, he could no longer recognize this woman. Though perhaps he never knew her to begin with.

"Jasmine, is _mine_. I suffered _months_ of celibacy then endured your bed to fulfill the prophecy given to me!"

"Prophesy?" he stepped backwards upon the crushing weight of emotions. "You – you wanted a child to fulfill some palm reader's prophecy? Do you hear yourself anymore, Sahara?"

"A prophecy that requires pure royal blood. A prophecy which would make me the greatest enchantress in the world! And you will not deny me what is rightfully owed to me!"

Hamed had witnessed his wife performing small incantations over Jasmine through the years. But they seemed to be harmless anthems and nothing that worried him too much. He had simply accepted that part of Sultana, more or less, never assuming she would harm Jasmine.

He began again slowly. "If these dark forces, that you embrace, were to command you to sacrifice the _life_ of our child… what then would your response be?"

There was a falter in her passivity. An inkling that the real Sultana laid dormant within the enchantress. But in another instant the light was snuffed out. Sahara gave a shrug.

"I can always spawn another."

The blow was a hot wind upon his face. It burned through his cassock and to his intestines before ultimately smoldering his very soul. Giving a head nod, and shifting his gaze about the chilled room, Sultan Hamed turned; refusing to let the witch see him cry.

Hamed reached his chambers and hid away with Jasmine bolting the door before tending to his daughter's wounds. Her hands were wrapped in fine silk and soon after Jasmine had fallen asleep in her father's massive bed. Hamed watched his daughter practically all night, fighting internally over what plan of action should be taken. He was always such a simple man. Content and never one for quarreling or even becoming angry for that matter.

But for the first and only time in Hamed's life, he concluded there to be no other way than to _fight_ for what he loved. Though the Sultana would always hold a place in Hamed's heart…he loved Jasmine far more.

* * *

"Sire, I have some scrolls to look …" Jafar exhaled without the ability to intake another breath. Long stature tumbling back into the parlor doors from whence he'd came.

Hamed's eye were blood shot as he looked up from where he sat huddled over a body. Short round hands trembling while his chubby face grew puffed and blotchy from weeping. No one spoke for a long moment.

"…I..." Hamed tried. He really wished he had words to express what had happened. The why's and the apologies for it. But each time he attempted to speak he fell short; tumbling into grief stricken tears. Eyes closing as if it would unwind what he'd done. Or rather what he had _ordered_ be done.

Hamed hadn't the guts to do it himself. Nor the heart. Rather he'd appointed one of the hand maidens to keep an eye out for poisons in the Sultana's lair. After a few days the girl had reported back to him with a red velvety fluid in a crystal vial. Then he'd ordered the servant to get the Sultana to drink it; although he refused to know when or how it would happen. Just that it did as soon as possible.

Tonight, nearly a week after the fact, Hamed had tried to come and speak with Sultana and possibly find a redeemable quality in her – so that he may be able to change his mind. But when their conversation quickly turned sour she had taken a large gulp of wine. Then another, and another until a sizzling gurgled in the back of her throat and a hole was burned into her gut. Sahara fell to the floor and coughed up blood while Hamed, horror struck, fell to her side and took her face in his lap. He didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. Or tell her how sorry he was.

Now as he rocked back and forth on his knees still clutching her to him, he felt no trace of relief. No satisfaction in what he had done. Only grief. Only despair. This was not the way to protect Jasmine. He had only harmed her by stealing away her mother. There could've been another way. There had to have been another path to take. Yet once again, Hamed had chosen a cowardly one.

Large brackets formed around Jafar's mouth, eyelids closing before slowly opening gain; vision blurred through forbidden tears. He shouldn't cry. He never cried. And to do so now would be an insult to her.

Sahara's face was grayish in a way that made it look thicker, leathery, as if all blood had drained into her core. Her eyes were bloodshot and aiming at the ceiling. Engorged veins traveling blue rivulets from her neck to her temples. It didn't even look like her anymore. Yet, despite how many times Jafar blinked away the image, it was her indeed.

"Baba?"

A tiny voice came from where Jafar stood; though neither man acknowledged the little Princess as she entered. When she'd stepped closer Hamed acted with prevarication avoiding the large innocent eyes that searched his soul. He would surely burn for eternity for what he had done.

"Jafar…" came a strangled version of his voice as snot dropped from his nose, "Get her out of here – please..."

"Baba," Jasmine stepped further in and her bottom lip trembled at the horrific sight of her mother, "Baba!" she cried louder now, "What's wrong with mama? **_Baba_**!"

The princess reached out to take the slain woman's hand but was suddenly ripped away by massive claws and pressed into a strong chest; the Vizier carrying her away from her mother forever, even as she wailed and pleaded for her.

Grief surged through Jafar with every expelled breath. Peaking even as he drew further away from Sahara's body. There was an incinerating bloom in his chest which burned then chilled simultaneously. It was like a stream of molten lava being suddenly doused with frigid water, turning the unforgiving liquid into a black hardened form. Then again, another batch of fire coiled on top of the first layer, only to be solidified in the same way. Over and over, until it became a crushing weight of impenetrable darkness a thousand miles deep. He could hardly breath against it. Could no longer feel the drumming of his heart nor see clearly as his steps faltered and he nearly fell over with the child in his arms. Oxygen dissipating from his lungs until his brain suffocated and his senses dulled. He had barely felt a servant take Jasmine from him as he continued on towards his tower, and hid himself within the stoned walls.

Jafar sat for a long while. Maybe for several days. He didn't eat or sleep. All he could do was sit on the hard freezing ground.

After some time though, the vizier stood, void of life, and picked up his scepter. Eyes shut. Mouth dry. Jafar thumbed the smooth dead material and waited for the flood of emotions to come.

Nothing happened though for a long time still. Not even the tears of which he knew he needed to shed. Instead all that he could feel forming, were the purest forms of rage. A sudden burst of emotion split through the iron clad of his heart and plunged into him. Jafar hunched over as he gasped, choking down the sudden lugs of breath.

Within an instant blackened misshapen hatred had given him back the capability to live. Revenge pumping blood back to his veins and heightening his ability to think; to feel. Anger fueled his thoughts and fed his desires, and as he squeezed the neck of his staff Jafar cackled malevolently. All forms of sanity or decency forever gone. Jafar would exact revenge on all that had ever done him wrong. Would consume everything and anything – starting with Agrabah. He would never again being powerless or weak.

Furthermore, Jafar vowed to become what Sultana was never able to be: all powerful and unstoppable. He'd apologize for nothing. Have pity for no one, just as the world never had pity on him. And anyone that sought to get in his way would suffer horrifically.

* * *

_Agrabah 1701_

Jafar sifted through scraps of ruble. Tossing wreckage into carts to be hauled away and disposed of, or refurbished if possible, and occasionally found another deceased amongst the debris. In which cases their bodies were placed into a separate cart and would be given proper burials later.

It was getting darker outside and the able bodied men grew weary. Jafar, tired as well, still sucked every last drop of energy from every man for another hour before finally calling it a night. When he made way back towards the square, Jafar felt the blisters on his grime covered hands, and frowned. He had taken position in the palace long ago to avoid crap like this ever again. So how Jasmine had guilted him into doing this work, he'd never understand. All he knew was she was slowly slicing away the edges of his exterior; forcing him to do things that were completely against his nature.

He knew he must look like complete shit, but hurried along to find his wife. When he finally caught a glimpse of her, Jasmine's back was to him, dried with blood and caked with dirt. He took a moment to look at her from a far; feeling once more that surging force of electricity, and it made him slightly smile.

But it was short lived as terror punched his gut. Jasmine having fallen over, head smacking hard upon the ground.


	18. Chapter 18: Nearly

_"Lavaughna, something - something's not right."_

Jasmine felt the rumble of her flat voice but it sounded out of body. The servant woman she'd been speaking with reached for Jasmines hand, saying something with a pinched face. But Jasmine's head bobbed, her eyes rolling back as the world turned into a funnel of swirls.

There were disembodied muffled screams. Someone calling out her name. But Jasmine couldn't make out any of it, a violent sting came as the blunt force of the ground collided with the back of her head. A sea of faces hovered overhead but there was no differentiation between any of them. Their marred appearances meshing together with the muck colored skies. Jasmine unable to tell where the world ended and the heavens began.

Someone parted the sea of people – Jafar possibly. Or maybe a guard. She couldn't tell. Couldn't smell anymore either to decipher whose hands were on her body and gripping her face. Jasmine was too numb and dull.

Someone gathered her up in their arms and it sent a splitting pain that stemmed from her back and shot over her entire body. The one holding her shouted. Frantic. Her head swayed as he ran. The grey smoky sky cutting out and replaced with the decorated arches of the palace walls. Jasmine sensed danger. Somewhere deep within knew that something wasn't right. But she couldn't cry or shout with the people around her. Couldn't validate their feelings of worry or tell her friends and family that she loved him. _All_ of them.

* * *

Jasmine screamed until her lungs burned and threatened to burst. Her clothes were cut off her body and she was pinned down as someone dug a tool into the meat of her calf – blood soaking the mattress and the torturous hands that worked to cut the meat of her leg.

A strap was placed in her mouth and she bit down. Jafar's voice was somewhere in the room, but she couldn't see him. Couldn't see anything but hot white lights of pain. A metallic smell evaded her nose until it burned. Then again, darkness consumed her entirely.

* * *

Jafar had been forced out of the room after he'd lost it. Blacked out with rage Jafar nearly murdered the doctor and the servants who pinned Jasmine down.

Jasmine had been screaming and then went deathly still and Jafar was sure they had killed her. Within seconds he was no longer in control.

"Get off me! Get the fuck off me!" Jafar whirled around on Razoul who had bravely aided in guiding Jafar from the chambers.

"My liege forgive me . . . Forgive me," he bowed his head and waited for a blow. But Jafar stormed off down the hall, holding his mouth and placing a fist on his narrow hips as he paced the corridor.

"My king, if I may look on the bright side –."

"No you may not! You incipient waste of space." Jafar bellowed sending Razoul back into a submissive bow.

Jafar huffed through his nostrils, "I have more important things to do than wait for my wife to die." And stormed away.

Jafar had murmured low and to himself but Razoul caught it and looked up with round eyes – Jafar's heartlessness knew no bounds.

* * *

Jafar closed himself within the room after the royal physician had cleared him to do so. It was the dead of night. Maybe already early morning. He hadn't slept or been able to work like he'd planned. Instead he'd spent the last torturous hours sick to his stomach and outraged with fear.

Jafar's back remained glued to the doors as if taking a moment to prepare himself. For what, he wasn't entirely sure, but there was a heavy presence that encumbered the air, keeping him rooted where he stood – a weight he'd felt many times in his life. _Death_.

Tabiib had said Jasmine lived through the surgery but that didn't mean she would make it through the night.

_"In addition to the gashes on her back, Queen Jasmine had a rotted piece of bark stuck deep within the calf of her left leg. The wound grew infectious. Had she come back inside the palace once it happened I could've stopped the worst of it. Now all we can do is wait and see. She's lost a lot of blood. She might not look like herself right now."_

Jafar rewound the earlier conversation with the doctor and blew out forcefully. _Stop being a bloody coward._ Jafar closed his eyes briefly then stepped across the room towards the bed. His hands shot to wrap behind his back and his chest puffed up like a shield as he stopped next to his wife's side.

Even as the glowing fires illuminated her skin with an orange tint Jasmine was deathly white. . . perspiration making her hair slick and the violet slip she wore cling to her form. A pool of glistening fluid caught in the dip of her throat. Her mouth was parted slightly, lips dry and void of their usual luster as she breathed ever so lightly. Her chest rose and fell in such a shallow rhythm that Jafar had to lean in to make sure she was still breathing.

After a long moment of frail reassurance, he straightened, eyes screwing shut forbidding him to look at her any longer. There was a peaceful sense about her which one might expect from a corpse – a stiff cold body, void of fear, pain . . . And life.

Jafar was no stranger to death or pain. However, the sensation that assaulted him now made him admit to his frail humanity. It sent gooseflesh down his spine and made he hairs on the back of his legs stand on end. For a split second Jafar faltered and slapped a large hand flat against his chest to cease the ripping of his heart. Jasmine was dying slowly and painfully.

He wanted to run from the dark room. Wanted to place a pillow over her face and kill her now. Anything to put a stop to how broken he felt watching her waste away right before him. He needed to do something. To control it somehow no matter the end result. But he couldn't. Jafar had no power when it came to this. No say in the outcome and it drove him mad.

Rage and fear. Hatred and heartache. Strength and weakness. He felt them all at the same time and the weight took a toll on his calloused heart.

He couldn't stand to look at her but he couldn't peel away from her either.

Jafar bent over the bedside and pressed a kiss to Jasmine's forehead. Her skin was clammy and smoldering to the touch. Though it churned Jafar's belly it reassured him she was still alive, and still his. If only for a while longer.

His lips grazed the base of her ear and he whispered to her. "I hope you don't think it will be so easy to escape me, my love. I won't let you go so easily." He smiled tightly and kissed her ear lobe, then her forehead and finally her slackened mouth.

Jafar left and prayed, for the first time in years, to Allah.

* * *

An entire week passed before Jasmine's fever finally broke without returning. Though she was on the mend, and bed ridden, Jafar had given her space. Sleeping instead in his old chambers while she had the infamous royal bedroom to herself. His visits to her were also rare and brief. Other than coming in to say, "_good morning. . . I see you're still alive_," Jafar remained elusive.

Which Jasmine didn't protest to. Her stitches were healing nicely but she was still in pain and found herself exhausted all the time. She couldn't imagine having Jafar brooding in the corner or demanding her to perform wifely duties so the small mercies were much appreciated.

Around the tenth day Jasmine requested to take a stroll; of which Mia, happily obliged, holding onto Jasmine's hand as they walked through the first corridor. Jasmine was limping and weak, taking stops every few feet to catch her breath. She felt pathetic to be in such a state and therefore glad the hallways were barren.

Mia was more than a wonderful companion and operated as Jasmine's eyes and ears over the last several days. Jasmine was able to remain less focused on her ailments while Mia divulged a never-ending list of conversational pieces. It turned out that, once the girl felt comfortable enough, she could talk up a storm, and Jasmine found Mia's bubbly personality refreshing.

Young Mia went in order of events, recalling best she could all that had happened. Most were basic facts, such as: the Europeans had all gone back home, the streets were cleaned up and the dead had all been buried. Thirty-five Mia stated. To the latter Jasmine flenched knowing Ummah had been reduced down to nothing more than another number. And possibly Vada. But Jasmine kept a faint smile and continued to listen.

Reconstruction of some homes were underway while the Sultan had begun projects on an orphanage, a scholarly building, and a café.

"Want to know what the coffee house will be called? Fa'ar Saghir. Isn't that simply adorable!?"

_Little mouse. He named the freaking building after my diminutive pet name?_

Jasmine found it obnoxiously offensive and didn't know whether to cry or laugh at how ridiculous this all was. Jafar was building three of the things she suggested, while naming one of them after her. Was he trying to be charming or condescending and manipulative? Either way she hated the odd fluttering in her belly when speaking about him and quickly changed subject.

"There was a little girl. . . Nivea. She was four I think. Brown hair. Green eyes. . .Do you know what happened to her?"

Mia thought on it for a moment and nodded with a smile as they turned a corner and headed to walk the path of a second corridor.

"_Oh_. Sultan Jafar found her family. A father and grandmother. Their reunion was rather magical – I watched from a distance but could see the joy of the family as his liege handed the child over. Sultan Jafar is also having a new ship built and is gonna expand trade with Russia and possibly even the America's. Or at least that's what I've heard. Isn't that amazing?"

Apparently, Jasmine would _not_ be avoiding Jafar's name during this conversation.

Mia went on, "The Sultan is doing some rather extraordinary things as of late. Don't you think your Majesty? Er – I mean. . . If that's not too bold to say my Queen?"

Jasmine hadn't been able to control the roll of her eyes and shrugged, feeling childish for her mannerism. "No, Mia. Not bold at all. You're right. He's done. . . _good_." a smile was produced but didn't reach her eyes.

Jasmine truly was impressed with all Jafar was doing. However, it was slightly unsettling to use the term _good_ when describing a maniac. Manipulative? Yes. Nasty and vindictive? Absolutely. But _good_? It didn't fit right in her mouth.

After a few more steps Jasmine decided she was tired and headed back to her chambers. In the solitary room, Jasmine fought against the excited buzzing of her heart and the cautionary alarms whaling inside her head. Jafar would _never_ change, no matter how many orphans he helped or how many of her ideas he listened to. Everything he did he did for himself. And every form of pleasure he sought would always come at the expense of others. It was only a matter of time before he struck again and ripped her down into a sinking hole of despair. Should she let her guard down the blow might very well kill her.

So, Jasmine tuned out all notions of affection and drifted off – forcing herself to recall all Jafar had ever done. She recalled the image of scaly skin and dripping fangs when Jafar transformed into an ungodly creature the night he'd taken over Agrabah. Relived the way Jafar almost beat Aladdin to death. Then how he nearly killed her by strangulation – bringing her to the point of defecation. Jasmine remembered the way he mutilated Dracul's face before slicing open his jugular and then how he cut off the man's hand and used it like a toy during their wedding night. He had broken her so badly and reveled in her misery. Time and again. Allah only knew how deep Jafar's crazy went. How much farther Jafar was capable of going given time.

No. Jasmine could never love him. Could never allow herself to sink so low.

With the recall of every heart wrenching memory Jasmine cooled the flame in her chest a little more until it was dull and meaningless yet again.


	19. Chapter 19: At A Distance

Jafar watched from the tower window. Something he hadn't done since his overthrow of Agrabah, but he now found its impending height and solitude quite necessary. It's where he felt safest to watch her. She was down below smiling as she strolled arm in arm with her hand maiden. Hamed was down there too at a small table as a servant fluffed the cushion behind his back. Jasmine came to her father's side, gave him a kiss and took a seat next to him as they were served tea and biscuits.

Jasmine laughed, placing a gentle hand to her chest and leaned back in her chair. Jafar doubted that Hamed could ever be comically genius and wondered if Jasmine laughed that way purposely, just to irk him. Surely she felt Jafar watching her and knew that she was tearing him apart one piece at a time.

Jafar's chest tightened and he clamped his mouth into a hardened line. He didn't know where else to go that would give him escape of her. He'd even avoided Jasmine for nearly an entire month, insisting (to himself more than anyone else) that it was to let her heal in peace. But even that hadn't been effective. No matter how much space he wedged between them, Jasmine was there – surrounding the air he breathed, her perfume like toxicity to the atmosphere. She assaulted the peacefulness of the palace with her sing-song voice and caricature laugh.

Jafar open and closed his hands on his staff. He'd neglected it as of late having felt confident enough in his ascent into sovereign authority to not need the feel of the crutch-like object any longer. Due to one child that confidence had now slipped.

Jasmine let out another wave of laughter and he knew for a fact she was exaggerating her cackle so that it could reach him. He cringed and slunk away from the window and headed down towards his (current) room. At least he knew where Jasmine _wouldn't_ be lurking and he could try and get some work done.

* * *

Jasmine snorted into a handkerchief as Hamed made a silly face. He pulled his neck in, dropped his chin down to his chest, and crossed his eyes. His neck rolls doubling in pudginess was the bonus that sent Jasmine into a fit of giggles.

"Baba, stop, please." She laughed, "_Oh_. You're so silly, father. I haven't laughed that hard in so long." Jasmine reeled in her giggle, taking a sip of herbed tea.

Hamed released his silly expression and suddenly became solemn. Looking at the table as if something troubled him.

"Baba . . . what is it? You can keep making a silly face if you want to?" Jasmine set down the china and touched his droopy shoulder gently.

He just wasn't the man he'd been before. True he was mobile again and more alert, but it wasn't _him_. Sometimes he would be happy and goofy. But more often than not he stared off with his mind lost somewhere in time. And Jasmine would lose him all over again.

"Baba? Hey, it's okay," Jasmine clutched his slack hand while the other worked soothingly to rub circles on his back. Her skin felt tight on her face as she held back frustrated tears, and she looked around for someone to help.

Blessedly Razoul just so happened to come out to pay the Royals a visit. He'd recently been promoted as the new Grand Royal Vizier to the Sultan – more than likely something Jafar deeply despised – and was dressed for the part, although he still carried a sword on his hip. Jasmine had been so happy for her friend and knew Razoul would be a wonderful Vizier. Just as he was already a wonderful servant of the palace and a trustworthy friend.

Jasmine gave Razoul a glossy, round eyed, look and he nodded gently to her and knelt down beside Hamed; uncaring if his black and gold thobe was tarnished from kneeling on the ground.

"Your Majesty, how about we go take a rest. Mm?" Razoul cooed as gently as his gruff voice would allow.

Hamed nodded indistinctly and Razoul helped him to his feet.

"I love you father. Sleep well," Jasmine kissed Hamed's soft hand and gave it a loving squeeze. He didn't say anything but she could see a twinkle in his eye, and Razoul led him away gently towards the palace.

Jasmine leaned back in her chair then shot up off it with a stiffened groan. Her injuries were all but completely healed, but they still ached when she did something forgetfully – like throwing her back carelessly against a stiff chair. Jasmine was alone, once more, and she tore apart her biscuit with loss of appetite. She looked up towards one of the towers. The one she knew Jafar usually spent his time in. She'd half hoped to see him standing there in the window. But when he wasn't, Jasmine's heart settled back down and she clutched her stomach and drank her tea thoughtfully.

* * *

It was high noon when Jafar left his meeting with the board of counsel men. And Razoul. Although Jafar hardly counted that ruffian as a worthy adviser. He had simply needed to fill the position. And Razoul was the only one Jafar knew that would be too stupid to ever challenge Jafar's decisions and wise enough to remain loyal.

Jafar had planned a trip to Israel pertaining to information about the Forty Thieves gang. A man from his past had vital information on where Jafar might find, and then annihilate, them and Jafar had finalized the arrangements to make the trip. Although he hated the idea of leaving his city in the hands of one inept former guard and a mindless old twit, it was inevitable to make the journey.

The last loose end to tie up would be that shrew of a woman. Jafar didn't want to take Jasmine, but he very well couldn't just leave her here alone again. Considering what happened the last time he left her. Jasmine would indubitably parole the heathenish streets of Agrabah the moment Jafar left, and then, to her credit, would invite every vagabond to come and live in the palace. He was going to be gone for a full week. Maybe longer depending. That was enough time for Agrabah to slip back into ruin and the palace to be turned into a freak show.

Which meant he had only one option left.

* * *

When Jasmine came back from morning tea on the terrace, she stopped along the way to see a friend of hers in the kitchen.

"Hold on now, there Lass. You didn't have to do this for me!"

Jasmine smiled kindly, "Of course I did Geraldine. You have been such a wonderful asset in our lives and during my healing process. I don't think I would've survived had it not been for your medicinal soup."

"_Oh_. I've never owned nuthin' so beautiful before." Geraldine's freckled face split open as her rosy cheeks turned a hue of the inside of a strawberry, "You're a fine Queen, your Majesty. And an even greater woman. I thank you." She kissed Jasmine on the cheek and Jasmine bloomed with joy and hugged her warmly.

"Have you seen Mia? I had a gift for her too."

Geraldine held up the emerald gown as if she were looking at a new born babe. "The little timid lass? Aye, she's probably in your room packin' for the trip." She said without taking her eyes off the garment.

Jasmine's smile dropped and she turned from the pastries she had been eyeing. "Trip? Mia's . . . leaving?"

Geraldine's face fell then twisted into an empathetic frown, "You don't know. Do ya?"

Jasmine bounded up to her chambers with fists clenched at her sides and found Mia where Geraldine said she'd be. Packing suitcases and bags with Jasmine's belongings. "Mia . . . what." She said breathily. "What are you doing?"

Mia dropped her half-finished task and hurried from the half-packed trunk to Jasmine with a smile. But then looked concernedly at the Queen's pinched face.

"My Queen, I'm just following orders and packing your things for the trip. I promise I'm taking care of your items."

That was hardly what worried Jasmine. "Following _whose_ orders?" Jasmine let out sourly still stuck in the doorway.

Mia folded her hands in front, bringing her shoulders in, "Well – the Sultan's of course. I assumed you knew, your Majesty?"

* * *

"How could you not tell me? Jafar!" Jasmine marched through the halls as she followed Jafar's brisk pace. The clanging of his staff echoing through the halls almost as loud as Jasmine's shouting.

"I don't have to tell you anything, _that's_ why." He bemoaned in a calm voice, but was quickly losing patience.

"But you should have _asked_ me first. Asked if I even wanted to go! Not had me hear it from the servants!"

He spun around on her with a concealed expression, but a dark light ignited his eyes and made Jasmine catch her breath. "We're traveling to Israel today." He showed his teeth, "Now you know." Then he moved past her to walk in the direction they'd just came.

Jasmine's mouth open and closed as she followed after him once more. She doubted he actually had a destination in mind and had been stepping about in large strides gratuitously to deflect her nagging.

"Jafar. I don't _want_ to go. That's the point. I – my people just had a crisis. I'm not leaving them so soon after a disaster." Jasmine exclaimed with brittleness, and stomped her foot as she halted and crossed her arms. "Or did you already _forget_ all that Agrabah went through because it didn't affect you _personally_."

He froze with the pound of his staff. His posture stiffened as he slow turned back around. Jasmine noted how his neck was corded and the muscles in his cheeks twitched as he glared at her. Jafar stepped methodically as he spoke deeply from the back of his throat.

"Allow me to remind _you_ something, little girl." His eyes turned into black pits and Jasmine shriveled down a size. "There is not one single, solitary moment in which I will ever have to explain myself to you. I am the _sole_ ruler of my kingdom. Everything in the city. Everyone on this soil, belongs to _me_, obeys _me_, and worships _me_."

Jasmine glared up at him, keeping her chin flat as she watched him tower her from the top of her eyes.

"More than anything, **_you_** are _mine_. You always have been and you will be until the day I decide you're no longer of any use." His fingers snatched Jasmine's chin forcing her to look up and straight into his eyes. Her face smarting under his viselike grip.

_"_Everything you are, everything you do, has come to pass because I fucking allowed it to. Make no mistake. You are not your own. You are not in power. And you most certainly are not my equal. And if you ever question my authority again – if I so much as catch a whiff of disobedience from you. I will have you _killed_." His mouth spoke against her face as he bared his teeth.

"Is that clear?" he finished without room for discussion and let her go with a forceful shove. Jasmine rubbed at her smarted cheek.

She looked him over trying to mask her trembling, "_Oh_, it's quite clear, indeed. It's clear that I was an _idiot_ to ever believe you could change. That you could be anything more than a twisted heartless bastard."

He showed his teeth and straightened calmly, "You're absolutely right, little _Jasmine_. And I suppose you'll not be so foolish as to make that mistake again."

Her breath swelled in her lungs and stayed there painfully full. Her name sounded like honey on his lips. A rare and sweet delicacy that she rarely ever got. Albeit at the same time his coldness made her belly twist. She had hoped he was changing. Had seen a glimmer of promise after the fire and during her healing phase. But whoever that man was that she thought she saw, clearly had been buried back down under the muck of his evil hatred, and there was no promise in bringing him back.

"No. I won't." Jasmine added in response, then left in a huff, her feelings a little bruised by him, as always.

* * *

Jasmine gave a hug to her friends and father as she departed. Each goodbye taking a piece of Jasmine's heart. It was only for a little while but she felt as if she were saying farewell for good. When she hugged Geraldine, gave Mia her gift, a bracelet, and hugged Razoul, she finally came to her father. He smiled kindly as if to a stranger and it broke her heart that in that moment of goodbye he was far away in his mind. Jasmine kissed him one last time and painfully left her home behind.

The journey had been tedious and painful. Hot and cold too, (somehow in unison) and Jasmine's legs began to chafe from the horses back. The last four hours had gone by painstakingly slow with views of sand dunes, more sand, and, oh yes, the rear end of a black stallion.

Jafar had perched Jasmine onto a brown mare that was carrying the majority of the luggage, and the horse was tied to the steed in front – Jafar's horse. Because naturally Jasmine couldn't be trusted to ride a horse freely, lest she try to run away. When Jafar had told her such nonsense she had tried to reason with him.

_"Where on earth would I run away too? I'm your wife, Jafar. Not your prisoner!"_

_"There's hardly a distinction between the two." He'd said equivocally._

And that had been the end of the discussion. Which now left Jasmine at the mercy of a horse's arse. Literally.

"Could we umm – take a break maybe?" she called up front. She didn't want to sound whiney but she'd never ridden and horse in her life, and her butt was bruising, legs were chaffing, and her bladder was becoming tight.

"_Jafar_?" She rolled her neck like a toddler begging for a toy, "_Please_?"

He remained rigid pretending he couldn't hear her whine. She envied him for being able to hold that posture for so long and on such an uncomfortable ride. Meanwhile her lower back tweaked and she hunched over holding tightly to the horn of the saddle. Which was probably a most improper way for a young Queen to sit.

"Dammit." Jasmine whispered to herself clenching her thighs together as nature called. She looked down at the soft sand beneath her, and held her breath, swooped a leg over and fell off the horse. Her body plummeting to the ground as she rolled out twice.

Jafar looked over and muttered a dark curse as he brought the horses to a halt.

"What the blasted hell do you think you're doing, woman!?"

Jasmine dusted off and flipped her sand coated ponytail over her back and straightened her outfit.

"If you must know," Jasmine called out as she tapped the edge of a sand dune with her foot to test it's stability. "I am human. _Unlike you_. And once in a blue moon . . . I have to pee." Jasmine said the last phrase quickly feeling a tinge of embarrassment at the back of her neck.

She heard Jafar mutter something else under his breath, as she dipped down into the slope where he couldn't see her and relieved her aching bladder.

Jasmine smiled to herself with a thought. "Jafar." She called back. "I would just like to make a point in saying that if I wanted to run away I could. I was still able to jump off and get away _regardless_of you tying my horse to yours."

"Go ahead and try, then. It's been a while since I've given you a beating and by my count you deserve _several_."

Jasmine rolled her eyes hearing the lightness of his threat.

"_Hurry_. _Up_." Jafar barked a moment after, wrapping the leather skin reigns around his knuckles in vexation. They had a fifteen-hour trip until they'd reach their destination. Which meant they'd have to spend tonight in the wilderness and with fleeting hours of sunlight, Jafar was in a hurry to get to a place suitable for a campground.

He was ready to just leave her there in the sand when he heard her scream. His pulse quickening as she jumped off the steed and ran back to where he'd left her.

"Little mouse?!" He shouted kicking up sand as he reached the edge of the dune and saw her on her back, "_Jasmine_!"

Her eyes bulged as she gave another primal scream, her arms giving out beneath her as she clambered backwards. The viper hissed as is darted quickly up the sandy dune. The sand crumbled beneath her weight and she slid towards the black cobra and shrieked, covering her face with her arms. A sheathing whoosh resounded as bone crunched. The commotion dying out as Jasmine's heartbeat thrashed inside her ears.

She peeked out and seen the snake dead at her feet with a sword sticking straight out of its head. She let out a whimper of relief and swatted at the tears in her eyes. The earth trickled next to her as Jafar slid down the side, sweat beading his creased forehead.

She'd never before been so happy to see him. "_Oh_. Jafar thank–."

"– What the hell were you thinking!?" He bellowed removing his sword from the snake and pointing the end of it at her. Jasmine flinched.

"Why the **bloody** hell do you keep trying to get yourself _killed_!? If you wanted to die so badly, you could've just told me long ago and have been done with it!" Jafar spat as he refused to help her up.

A tiny noise of fear came from her throat as Jasmine retracted her hand. She'd needed to pee and coincidentally nature had lashed out at her. But how was that her fault?

"This is _exactly_ why I can't leave you alone for even a _goddamn_ minute. Get back on the horse." He shouted hovering over her. "**_Now_**!"

Jasmine shook sinking deeper into the sand and wished it would swallow her whole. Jafar stormed off climbing the unsteady dune and she clamped her trembling mouth and followed dejectedly up towards the horses.

Jafar pinched her sides in an aggressive manner as he practically threw her onto the mare's back and then stormed ahead to mount his own. The animals resumed their gait once more and Jasmine bore daggers into the back of Jafar's head.

"Thanks for the help. _Jerkoff_." She whispered too loudly and covered her mouth.

"Keep it up, Jasmine. No one will hear you scream from out here."

* * *

Jafar and Jasmine came to a flatland of hardened dry ground. Its environment surrounded by red mountains, shrubbery, and a straggle of trees. Jafar dismounted his steed majestically and Jasmine did too, albeit clumsily, as she tripped over her own feet and landing on her knees on the way down. Jafar looked back over his shoulder and she hopped up and faked a smile as if nothing had happened.

Jafar rolled his eyes and led the horses to an acacia tree and tied them to the trunk and gave them water. It was so relieving to finally stretch her legs and not feel rushed to get back on that dastardly ride. She contemplated walking the rest of the way tomorrow – anything would be better than riding bull legged on a jarring ride.

"We need to set up camp. I'll pitch the tent, and make the fire. Can you manage to gather kindling," he turned to face her with a sneer, "Or will you screw that up as well and get attacked by a small woodland creature?"

She huffed throwing her hands down over her outfit to shove off imaginary dirt. "I would hardly call a _cobra_ a woodland creature, Jafar."

He remained deadpanned and unconvinced.

"Sure, I'll try my best . . . but as you said, I'll probably screw it up. _Something I learned from watching you._" She muttered loudly so he could hear, and gave a sweetheart grin even as his deep-set eyes turned dark.

Jasmine scavenged the camp site for kindling. She'd made several fires when cooking in the brothel, and though they usually used coal (or in worse cases dried animal dung) Jasmine was confident in her abilities, and soon had a decent pile of twigs and brush. Jafar finished their sleeping hut and picked up two rocks, smacked them together and lit a blaze. Jasmine bent down to its base and blew on it a little until the amber birth turned into a full-grown blaze.

She leaned up on her heels and gave Jafar a smile. But he stood ignoring her, and went to make a bed within the tent. Jasmine rolled her eyes and decided to give up trying all together. He was more easily agitated than usual. Maybe it had been their month apart from each other that did it. Maybe he didn't want her anymore – didn't find her attractive because of her new scars or because he realized he didn't need her to make Agrabah great again. All viable outcomes – none of them reassuring.

Jasmine grabbed paan, hummus, and strawberries from a satchel and arranged it on some cloth for each of them. She thought of placing Jafar's setting next to hers but decided agaisnt it given his current avoidance towards her.

The winds had calmed considerably though a new wintry bitterness fell upon the land. The surrounding mountains seemed to enable a frosty birth over the ground and promised a long frigid night was in store. Her and Jafar ate in silence – the quiet proving to Jasmine that the only thing worse than fighting with Jafar was being dead silent with him. Clearly, he was pissed at her. Maybe for everything. Maybe for nothing. He was always angry, always hateful. She knew all that. But this level of weird was unlike him, and Jasmine tried to ease the tension. Willing to be the only adult in that moment.

"Jafar, I want to apologize." She started softly, bringing her legs closer underneath her bum. Jafar watched the fire as she continued. "I know that . . . I'm difficult at times, and my choices keep putting you in danger with me. For that, I'm sorry."

His dark eyes looked up through the tops of his lids. The shadows of flames making them deeper and his hard face more angular. Jasmine chewed her lip and hugged her stomach as a shield from the coolness of the air and his relentless eyes.

"I didn't see the snake." She sputtered disconcertingly, "That was my fault and . . . I didn't listen to you when you told me to go inside after the fire. I know now that I should have."

His brows tucked as he watched her cynically.

Jasmine shrugged to him as if able to read the question of her motives. "I just wanted to let you know I appreciate your kindness, and I'll try and take your – advice, more often." Her face scrunched finding the compliments come out awkwardly. Especially when admitting to her "enemy" that he was right, and she was wrong. But it felt good to be the bigger person, and Jasmine began to eat her meal again; not waiting to see if Jafar was shooting spiteful glances. (Though she knew he probably was.)

They'd finished eating as the stars blanketed the deep sky. A desert animal called out in the distance and Jasmine huddled closer to the light. She carefully watched Jafar from across the flames. His face still had the firm leanness of a younger man, but lines where trouble and sorrow and weariness had failed to cover their tracks made Jafar look older. Especially when he was frowning. But on the off chance that he would smile, or even look calm, Jasmine could see the younger version of him. The boy she desperately wanted to know more of, and the past she couldn't keep her mind off. Young Jafar – innocent, loving Jafar – might still be in there.

He darted his gaze up at her across the fire, and Jasmine pulled swiftly back in a straight posture at being caught. Jasmine rubbed uneasiness away by rolling the palm of her hands over her knees. She wanted to divert from the fact that she'd been discovered gawking and tried for another conversation.

"So. Who are we staying with again?" she asked.

He watched her passively, "An old acquaintance."

"Oh, so a _friend_?" Jasmine pipped up giving a stiff smile – the bitter night limiting the mobility of her cheeks.

He looked at her as if she were some dolt. "If that's what he was, that's what I would have said."

Jasmine side stepped a possible argument. "That'll be nice to see someone from your past . . . _again_," she assumed in reference to Henrietta's visit. Although, given what she knew of his former life there wasn't much good lurking there. And as expected Jafar replied with disdain.

"I'd rather never visit my past again, yet, for some god-awful reason, it keeps showing up anyways. This is a _business_ trip, nothing more."

Jasmine took his stoned expression as the end of another meager conversation and let it go.

She yawned and Jafar took a breath.

"It's time to call it a night. Let's go." Jafar announced, then stood and put out the fire just as Jasmine came to her feet and tried to find the tent in the darkness.

She heard Jafar shuffle somewhere nearby and tried to follow his footsteps with her hands waving in front.

Her head ricocheted off something hard, "Ow!" She winced rubbing her head where she had smacked into his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Jafar."

"Sure you are," he droned reaching down to take hold of her hand and led her towards the inside of their tent.

He let go of her hand once inside, lit a lantern, and tossed her a robe to cover up in for the night. Jasmine slipped it over her outfit, and slipped into the makeshift bed. It was sufficiently comfortable enough with thick pelts on top, and Jasmine easily found herself overcome with exhaustion.

The light blew out a moment later, and she closed her eyes to sleep. Movement came from the other side as the blankets were lifted and placed back down, and a new warmth filled her backside.

_Crap_. She'd half expected him to sleep somewhere else other than next to her. It had after all been a month since they'd shared a room, and even then, Jafar never slept next to Jasmine in bed. Even on their dreadful wedding night, Jafar hadn't lied next to her. The shock of his actions now caused her head to spin.

In addition, his insistent elusiveness and the cold dark wall that was always between them, had given Jasmine the impression that he might never touch her again. Allah, how she had been wrong. And what was worse was she didn't want it to stop, and in fact craved more from him.

Jafar formed his body with hers as they both laid on their sides. He wrapped a strong arm over her belly and pulled her into his chest until their bodies felt like one. Jasmine's eyes fluttered and she suddenly felt frozen from within and began to tremble.

"What is it now?" Jafar's voice was husky with sleep and that made Jasmine's breath catch and her tummy tighten. "Does this hurt you?" He said a little gentler and eased away from her back.

"No!" Jasmine squeaked surprising both of them. She cleared her throat and reigned in her quavering nerves. "I mean, no. It doesn't hurt. I'm . . . cold. So, you can hold me closer – if you want."

Jafar smirked bemused and pulled her into his body once more, nuzzled her hair with his nose, and within moments was in a deep sleep.

Jasmine however couldn't close her eyes one bit. She couldn't move or relax or breathe or think of anything other than how wickedly delicious this moment was. She knew they'd have to sleep together again, and soon perform marital duties, and had sort of dreaded it. But _this_? God, how sexy it was and surprisingly comforting. Jasmine made a low whine in her throat and wriggled her backside into Jafar a little more.

_Oh Allah, why does this feel so good? Please let him ruin it by forcing me to do something awful. Please, I'm begging you to let this moment be tarnished. Don't dangle hope in front of me if you're not going to let it stay._

Jasmine told herself that Jafar held her this way because it was practical. They were after all on the ground in the middle of the desert in subzero temperatures. It would be pathetic to revere his actions as if emotions were laced within them.

Despite the hard facts of reality, Jasmine was consumed by the moment and savored every bit of it. The masculine width of his chest, the tight feel of his abdomen against her. His heart beat slow and strong at her back. His freed arm had slunk underneath their shared pillow, leaving his hand to hang easily from the end. Jasmine lifted her head and gently touched his fingers. Pressing the tips of hers against his and then felt the smooth hair on his knuckles. Jasmine kept her hand on his and mused with a smile. They fit perfectly together like this and for the first time in so long, Jasmine felt safe and content to be right where she was.

Jasmine's eyes grew heavy as she listened to Jafar breathe against her. It didn't take long until her own breath had synchronized with his, and she forced silent any trace of doubt or fear, and allowed herself to sleep peacefully with her husband. A man that scared her. Yet challenged her to be better. A man that inflicted pain because he only held the capacity for dysfunction – but deep down. Way deep, _deep_, below his callousness and brutality, there was a boy there, who just needed love, but was too afraid to say so.

Jasmine fell asleep and dreamed of terrible images: a lost boy, a bloodied woman, and an evil enchantress.


	20. Chapter 20: Israel

Sequestering effects of the vast desert revealed a euphoric bliss of magic. The unadulterated tranquility, the silence within towering dunes of soft and rippling sands, birthed ephemeral moments, so fragile, they could be broken by the sound of critters footsteps on a desert floor a hundred meters away_._ The sun rose in dusks of red and orange. Desert basins surrounded by mountains were etched with a new dawn – the epitome of fresh life. It was desolate and hauntingly beautiful as the colors spilled across the sinuous curving patterns of sand. A low light tightly knit weaves of mesmerizing hues, ranging from golds to blues, across the sands while blackened shadows gave a sense of chasms. Coyotes stirred as kit foxes, beetles, and the kangaroo rats began to leave their spoors. It was timeless and perfectly quiescent.

One lone hunter, however, was unable to appreciate the rhythmic and perfect sunrise as anticipation kept him grounded on one task alone – implementing a kill. The horse swayed back and forth, snaking her head in frustration as they waited. It was evident she wanted to leave but it wasn't time. He'd need to see the beast for himself before taking action.

The tracks led him here, placed the snake within this murky den where it no doubt was convoluted and seemingly _safe_. But it wouldn't be soon enough. First, the man in black needed to see the yellow eyes of the beast and its dripping fangs. The element of surprise would only rob the glory of the kill. No. This hunter needed to be dead eyed with it when he ripped its vertebrae through its throat.

A wrong move, a poorly timed attack, and the hunter would quickly become the hunted. So wait he had – four hours to be exact – and the mare was growing irksome. "Shh – Shh," He crooned and made a clicking with his tongue to sooth her timorousness. "Easy, Bek. Just wait."

Her ears swiveled with anxiety and she gave a low neigh, her warm breath visible against the frosty air, and she pawed with her foreleg at the rocky ledge. Bek _hated _snakes – the rider knew that – but he'd waited too long and overcome insurmountable odds just to be here in this moment. There was no backing down. Bek must be brave when the time came. They both must be.

Then, out of the recesses of unforgiving darkness something stirred, rearing its flat head slowly as it flicked out its forked tongue to test the flavors of the earth. A droplet of sweat rolled between the crevice of the hunter's spine, and he stiffened, petrified the snake might pick up on his scent. But it didn't.

The viper's body was long and thin but full of power as it slithered with slimy smooth scales over the watery rivulets of earth. Its smooth column of armored muscle was coated in black and red – poisonous to the touch. Stone-like steel eyes flicked with a transparent covering; its slit irises watching, perusing its territory.

He should feel some remorse for what he is about to do, yet there is only a fleeting blip of compunction. If it were reversed the snake wouldn't think twice. A mind of a viper is so far removed from anything mammalian – a reptile's survival doesn't depend on compassion or nurturing. Its primitive mind is bred to hunt, kill and survive. Others may have loved it once, but the snake can't love back; it's survival doesn't require such thing. No one will miss it. And so, with a clear conscience, the hunter unsheathed a mighty sword, slowly, ever so slowly.

He clutched the handle of the curved blade, tightening his hands on it and the reigns. His heart dropped like a rock in a quarry, plummeting without an end as the man fought to steady his coarse breathing. He needed to be ready, regardless of the outcome, and took a deep breath then expelled it hard through his shapely mouth. His chest puffed, eyes keen and alert, and his sword raised high as he prepared to charge down the rocky slope when – the mare whinnied and jolted, the reigns yanked hard forcing them to a standstill once more. Bek stepped away from the ledge as her rider lowered his chest to her back and watched carefully below.

The snake was not alone.

"You?" Aladdin's voice was a ghost of a whisper as he watched Jasmine emerge from the tent. She was wearing a gold and blue outfit made of thick cotton that clung to her entire form and showed a trace of her flat belly. She stretched her slender arms high above her head and yawned, covering her mouth, and sleepily headed towards the scumbag.

Aladdin ripped his gaze from the scene and closed his eyes. Fists clenching until his palms were full of sweat and mottled with white spots. Spittle formed at the corners of his mouth as he made incoherent gurgling sounds in the back of his throat. He'd never felt so betrayed before in his life. Of course, he'd heard that Jasmine married the devil – a travesty he'd shamefully played a part in – but Aladdin had expected her to be back in Agrabah safe. Away from dangers. _Away. From. Him_.

Aladdin's body gave uncontrollable tremors and Bek announced her uneasiness from his tension with a screeching whinny. The echoing cacophony forced Aladdin to spring into action, flip off the mare, slink backwards with her in tow, and calm her with soft hushes as they hid deep behind the boulders. When she'd calmed, Aladdin tied Bek to one of the jagged rocks and crawled on his belly back up to the ledge, waiting several excruciating moments before peeking down below. If their cover had been blown, the snake didn't let on to it and merely began packing the tent and supplies as Jasmine waited by him.

Aladdin narrowed his eyes, vision blurred with white hot fury. Wife or not, what business did Jasmine have to be out here with Jafar in the first place?! Could it be that she was falling for him? That they'd been together in fits of passion and Jasmine had whispered those three words meant strictly for Aladdin? How could she do this to them? To their love? It completely blindsided Aladdin when he'd unequivocally discovered that Jasmine had shared Jafar's bed all night; and the hellish visions of her writhing in the tent underneath the beast made Aladdin tremor again.

Maybe Jasmine was doing this out of hurt, Aladdin reasoned. He hadn't gone after her during their last tiff and it pushed her to where she was now. It was all Aladdin's fault, and he knew now as he watched her beautiful innocent face that only he could fix the wrong he'd done. Surely she still loved and waited for him. Waited for the day Aladdin would vanquish the foul villain and storm in to save her as he had before. That thought alone gave Aladdin hope and he eased a little.

Jasmine crossed her arms and stomped her foot. Aladdin watched intently as Jafar whirled around on her and barked something out of earshot, then turned back around to finish strapping the last saddle pack. Jasmine kicked the dirt and stormed off in the opposite direction, and Aladdin allowed a smile to pass. Obviously Jasmine didn't love Jafar. She still hated him just as much as Aladdin did. Jafar marched after Jasmine, grabbed her by the waist and hurled her over his shoulder like a small bag of wheat. She swatted at him futilely before being thrown over the backside of the smaller light colored horse, and Jafar stabbed a finger at her as if reprimanding a child.

Aladdin had seen enough.

He slunk back away careful not to knock loose any freed pebbles or disturb the brush around him, and stealthily went to mount his mare. Bek tossed her head up and nickered at Aladdin as they began to head away from the original target. Aladdin spoke accordingly to his companion.

"I'm not _scared_! It's not time yet, is all." He looked over his shoulder and gave a smile, knowing they were still arguing. "But soon, Bek. Very soon." She pawed the ground and refused to move. Aladdin rolled his eyes lowering himself to speak closer to her face. "It wasn't forever, Bek, it was hardly an entire night . . . well what do you want me to do? Go down there and slice him through right in front of her? She'd never accept me all bloodied. We need to do this right."

Still not satisfied Bek didn't budge even as Aladdin squeezed his legs together and gave a shake of the reigns. He sighed, hopped off, and gave her the last bit of food in his satchel. "Happy now?" Aladdin threw his arms out to the sides and mounted again. Seemingly pleased to be accommodated for her troubles, the mare obeyed her master and headed north.

Deep down Aladdin knew he and Jasmine would cross paths again – one way or another they would get their happy ever after with each other. He'd just never imagined it would be this simple. It had been heart wrenching to leave in the first place, but he'd done what was necessary for their future.

When he did come back to Agrabah, Aladdin had found Jasmine tending to the commoners, and he'd stepped in front, causing her to run into him. She hadn't recognized him under his uniform that day, but he'd smiled at her and nearly kidnapped Jasmine then and there. It took everything in him to control himself. And again, the next afternoon, when he'd pulled Jasmine from the burning brothel he'd had half the mind to stow her away on his horse and never look back. But he'd waited patiently like a predator – something he learned from watching his opponent. Those who persisted with diligence, won. And it held true in this moment as Aladdin rode away with an assuredness swelling within his chest. In the end a villain always lost, and the hero would receive everything he'd ever wished for, and _more_.

* * *

Cyrus looked himself over in the mirror and washed his tired hands in the basin. A nervous habit of his that often left his hands cracking in the crevices of his fingers. He was a man in his fifties and a successfully wealthy merchant. (Although he only kept the money necessary for his family and gave the rest away to those most in need.) The hours of the day had drawn on painfully slow as he'd waited, and even after a fulfilling day of work, and spending time in prayer most of the morning, Cyrus still felt an unsettling in his soul. He dried his calloused hands, ran a comb over his long greying beard and watched the dark circles under his eyes.

Small slender hands slid around from his back up to his rotund chest, and he let out a deep chuckle that met his eyes. "Tzipporah," he sang his wife's name in soft baritone and turned to embrace her with a kiss. Her gentle eyes met his when their lips parted and she rewarded him with a gleaming smile that melted his heart – the impact as monumental as the day he'd first laid eyes on her.

"You have been so distant today my love. Are you nervous?" Tzipporah asked and Cyrus leaned back, holding her at arm's length as he gave a tilt of the chin.

"Me, nervous? Come now beloved." He chuckled and she eyed him playfully.

"Cyrus," she dragged out his name in a pitched tone, "I know you better than even you know yourself . . . if you want to change your mind you still can. You don't have to visit your past anymore, its behind you – perhaps its best to stay there."

Cyrus turned more serious and gave his wife a chaste kiss, forcing himself calm and smiling happily. "I simply needed extra time with the Lord today is all. I assure there is nothing to fear from Jafar _or_ the past. The Lord knows what he is doing by bringing him here."

Tzipporah made a face of uncertainty but nodded in agreement, let go of his muscular shoulders and headed towards the main room. Her husband had been an excellent provider and protector of their family without fail. She never doubted his judgment even for an instant – however, Tzipporah's willpower was strong and she had her own set of concerns regarding their formidable guest. There were the children to consider after all, but Tzipporah attempted to set worries aside and hold her tongue on the matter.

"How long has it been?" She asked sitting next to him on a settee, and smoothed her long woolen dress over her knees.

Cyrus clutched at his peppered beard, starring off in thought, "A lifetime."

"And you're sure you're not worried at all? That this is a good idea?" Tzipporah allowed then stopped, detecting how condescending she must sound. Cyrus however remained ever patient and gave her hand a loving squeeze.

"Jafar and I were all but cut from the same cloth – there's nothing to fear from his visit. He's a good man."

Tzipporah smiled wanly. It wasn't fear necessarily but rather motherly intuition that told her to be cautious with whom they invited into their home. And, though she despised gossip and often gave a tongue lashing to the women who over indulged in it, tales about an evil sorcerer overthrowing the neighboring kingdom had reached her. Mainly because all of Safed had heard that Cyrus was allowing the brute to visit and every neighbor had made sure Tzipporah knew _exactly_ what sort of evil she was allowing into her home.

She lowered her voice to a hush so the children wouldn't hear her concern. "If you and this . . . beastly man."

"_Jafar_?" He smiled kindly and she waved it away.

"If you knew him as a beggar boy how on earth did he come to be a Sultan?" Tzipporah searched her husband's eyes. He was so benevolent that sometimes it blinded him. "If what those _ghastly_women out there say is of any truth, then this man surely is up to no good. Why single our family out after all these years? What could he want?"

Cyrus pulled a discerning face and leaned back in his chair to smooth the flat of his hand over his stomach. Jafar's letter had been brief in detail but Cyrus had an inkling to what the visit pertained. And if he told Tzipporah of his own suspicions it would only make matters worse. Jafar and his young wife would be here any hour now and there was no sense riling the lot of them over hearsay and suspicion.

"I'm unsure," he half lied in attempt to placate and inwardly prayed for forgiveness. "But whatever his means of business I promise that the Lord and myself will keep our family safe." He smacked his hand on his thigh, "_Besides_!" He boomed, "The children will love to meet a Princess from a strange new land! Won't you my little spies?"

A fit of giggling broke out from around the corner and Tzipporah made a noise of frustration with her tongue. So much for trying to speak discreetly. Three children ran out and pummeled their father, with hugs and laughter; his rocking chair thrown back as two climbed in his lap and another bent over to throw her arms around his neck.

"Honestly, Cyrus you shouldn't encourage them," Tzipporah huffed, "Children, it is very impolite to eavesdrop." Their smiles wobbled a little, and Cyrus gave a guttural noise as he peeled the smallest children from his chest and set them on their feet.

"Listen to your mother, now." He ordered in his most stern voice possible, and pulled in his mouth to keep from laughing, all three facing their mother with innocent big doe eyes.

Hadassah was the eldest at thirteen, Josiah eight, and the youngest, Opal, was five. They all had olive skin, deep set brown eyes, and dark brown hair. A handsome bunch of loving children – and as Tzipporah gave a quick lecture on mannerisms, she couldn't help but swell with pride at the lovely family God had blessed her with. All the more reason for her to be terrified of their arriving guest.

"Now go finish your chores and the rest of your studies." She stated, lengthening her spine. All three nodded with a _"yes ma'am" _and gave her a kiss and hug individually, then ran hurriedly down the hall in another fit of giggling.

Cyrus took a satisfied breath and relaxed, "Well the children certainly appear in high spirits. I suppose they know the Lord is their protector and to fear not the unknown." Cyrus smiled mischievously and Tzipporah stood, folding her hands serenely.

"And it's their precious naiveté that I wish to protect for as long as possible – I just want to make sure our family will be safe." Her eyes turned downcast with an unspoken hurt, and Cyrus stood knowing all too well where her mind had gone.

He pulled her into his bearlike arms and rocked her comfortingly as he kissed the top of her head and promised to not let anything else happen to their family. Then, when she seemed more at ease, he released her and kept a fruitful smile until she disappeared into the kitchen. Cyrus closed his eyes briefly and turned towards the upstairs balcony. Winter was nearly upon them and the hairs on his forearms stood on end with the breeze. Cyrus bowed his head, gripping the railing, and prayed feverishly once more for guidance and the peace that he desperately needed if he was going to endure Jafar's arrival.

* * *

The rooftops of limestone structures were staggered along the mountainous hill. Safed, Israel had narrow and steep streets, beautifully decorated in white stone homes and cobblestone floors. The doors and walls of certain structures were awash in turquoise and lapis lazuli. The city was full of a labyrinth of alleyways and stone staircases adorning the old city. Fresh fruit, and fading flowers, although still beautiful, adorned the streets on every corner, and branches of evergreen fig, olive, and date trees decorated the sky.

Jafar led them through the windy cobblestone streets, passing merchants shops, several synagogues and a sea of people who kept staring. Had jasmine not been so enamored with the magnificent architecture and colors, she would've picked up on some of the scathing looks she was given. Instead, she rode mouth wide and face glowing with wonderment. She'd been cross the majority of the trip, due in large part to her companion, but now her chest bloomed with excitement and she was thankful she had been brought along after all.

Nearest the top of the city was an enchanting stone home with a brilliantly turquoise arched door and vines with wilting flowers growing across the outside walls – Jasmine thought they looked like long spider legs. Jafar slid off of his steed, and gave it a pat on its side to steady him. Jasmine remained seated waiting hesitantly for instructions, then jerked her head up to see the doorway swing open and a large man approaching. With a height as mighty as Jafar's and a mass of hair covering most of his face, the stranger's lumbering gait intimidated Jasmine, and she drew up her shoulders and sucked in a nervous breath.

Cyrus stopped with a wide stance and crossed arms. "I don't recall inviting a pompous Arab to my home . . . What business do you have stranger?"

Jasmine went wide eyed and froze terrified Jafar would kill the man and that their trip would be canceled short and she would have to endure another fifteen hours on grueling horseback. (In retrospect, she knew the latter was a selfish notion.)

Jafar smirked taking his staff in hand and stood with self-assurance. "I'm looking for a Hebrew, who is dripping with guile and impervious to the laws of civilization. Nothing more than a mere heathen, I'm afraid."

"Ha. Is that so? And what would that make you then?"

"An incorrigible calamitous snake," Jafar affirmed without skipping a beat.

The silence sent Jasmine over the edge and she nearly jumped off the horse and ran to the man for forgiveness on behalf of her insufferable husband, when both men broke out into laughter at their raillery – even Jafar who donned a rare and stunning smile.

The man stepped forward with open arms, "It is so well to see you again my old friend!"

"Indeed, it is, Cyrus." Jafar answered affectionately as they embraced momentarily with a firm pat on the back. "I apologize for our delay in arrival."

"Not at all! You're just in time. I trust your journey was a safe one?"

Jafar peered up at Jasmine with an undisclosed look, "Only a little trouble – but nothing I couldn't handle."

Jasmine worked her jaw to keep from rolling her eyes and accepted Jafar's help down from the horse. He snaked an arm around her back and pulled her into his side possessively.

"Cyrus, allow me to introduce my wife and Queen of Agrabah – Jasmine."

Cyrus bowed his head respectfully and then reached to shake her hand. His hands were massive in size and looked capable of snapping an olive tree in half, but to the touch they were gentle and kind. The most noticeable trait about the Israeli man, however, was his stentorian voice and benignant expressions that denoted goodness of heart. Jasmine decided instantly that her former impression of him was misguided, and she took a liking to him right away.

"Your Majesty it is an honor to have you as a guest within our home. Jafar, she is even more lovely in person than you let on." He joked and Jafar gave a slight roll of the eyes. "Come with me child. You must meet my family!" Cyrus boomed holding the crook of his arm for Jasmine.

She gave a side glance to Jafar and he hesitantly let her go, and followed behind them as he led the horses through the doorway, which led to the outdoor courtyard.

"Thank you for letting us come, Cyrus. I hope our sudden arrival wasn't too short notice for your family. I don't want us to be a bother." Jasmine said in a hush, trying to keep Jafar from hearing. She knew it would infuriate him if he overheard her patronizing his decisions. Luckily though, Jafar seemed unaware as he walked in the opposite direction.

"Nonsense!" Cyrus jeered patting Jasmine's hand and then motioning to the stone stairs that lead to the front door. "Any woman kind and loving enough to enrapture the heart of my infamous friend is always welcome within our home. We are family now." He put in and Jasmine pulled a face rather taken aback. How was it possible that two men so polar opposite knew one another – let alone were good _friends_? Jafar continued to be an enigma.

The door opened before them and a plain woman with wizened lines around her large set eyes came to greet them. She had a comely curvaceous figure, with a strong voice and affable way about her.

"This is Tzipporah, my wife. Beloved, this is her Majesty Queen Jasmine," he introduced briefly, then stepped back to go and help Jafar unload the luggage and put away the horses.

Alone with yet another stranger Jasmine felt self-conscious and clenched her hands at her sides to keep from holding her stomach in the childish way she was so accustomed. "Please, Jasmine alone is fine. No title necessary." She laughed nervously and Tzipporah gave an understanding grin.

"Don't be nervous my dear, meeting new people is always a little nerve racking at first. But rest assured you're amongst friends." Tzipporah took Jasmine by the hand and gave a firm handshake. "Please, come in dear. I am sure you're ravenous and exhausted from the journey."

Jasmine eagerly obliged and followed in, sending a look towards Jafar, who had his back turned to her as he worked. Jasmine opened her mouth at the beautiful home and then forced it shut again. It wasn't so much extravagant and opulent, like her palace, but there was a rare bewitching beauty to the structure that made Jasmine feel immediately at home. The ceilings were arched, and walls as whitewashed as clouds, and the smell of delicious food wafted warmly through the air.

"Now then, the children are studying, but you will meet them at supper." Tzipporah spoke stepping up an angled staircase, and Jasmine followed behind as they walked. "There is a washtub in your room, with already heated water. I knew you would probably need to bathe," Tzipporah looked Jasmine over kindly, and Jasmine chewed her lip acutely aware of her disheveled state. "We leave in the mornings to pray at the synagogue, and after that the children tend to their chores and then we take a walk and bring food to our neighbors most in need."

Jasmine nodded unsure if she was expected to take part in these activities or if Tzipporah was simply an orderly woman who enjoyed naming off to-do lists to random strangers. They reached the bedroom, and Tzipporah showed her in.

"Supper will be ready in an hour." She paused, "I'm sure your husband will be in shortly, but given the loquacious nature of mine, it's safe to say it will be some time before you'll see him again." Tzipporah teased and Jasmine giggled.

"Thank you very much, Ma'am. I truly appreciate your hospitality."

Tzipporah gave an almost surprised, yet pleasant smile and left Jasmine to herself.

* * *

Jasmine cleaned up, changed and headed downstairs to aid Tzipporah in whatever was needed. The men finally brought the packs inside, cleaned up and soon met the rest of them at the supper table. Jafar and Cyrus sat at opposing ends, their wives on their right hand sides. Jasmine got to sit next to Opal while haddassah and Josiah sat across the table.

The men spoke conversationally while the children hungrily delved into their food. Haddassah kept staring at Jasmine several times, always with a smile, while Opal gawked up at Jafar with apparent concern on her round face.

Jasmine nearly spit out her wine when the toddler asked Jafar if he was here to steal her, and Tzipporah gave a sudden clap of her hands in loud protest.

Jafar chuckled and licked his lips. Jasmine suddenly entranced by his soft smile as he spoke to the little girl.

"As beautiful as you are my dear Opal, I'm afraid your father would never allow me to steal you away. I promise you're safe."

Opal's concern was lost and replaced by a baby toothed smile, "but you can stay here with me forever instead?"

Jasmine's heart practically palpitated and she had to look away from Jafar's handsome smile. The unwarranted fluttering in her chest all too much and she bounced her leg under the table.

"Opal, leave the poor man alone," Tzipporah put in and then turned the conversation back to the former topics.

Everyone finished eating and Jasmine jumped up to help Tzipporah clear the plates and returned with tea and sweet fig cake. After they'd finished, Jasmine followed the children and Tzipporah to the loft and plopped down on the floor next to the younger two as they began playing a game with some thread; in which they taught Jasmine cats cradle. Tzipporah knitted as she rocked steadily in her chair and Haddassah sewed finishing touches to a winter dress.

Jasmine peered over to where the men still sat at the table speaking out of ear shot. Jafar hadn't let on to why they were here, but a tinge of alarm persisted like a descant over the pleasant sound of the tranquil evening.

"I can make you one too, if you would like," Hadassah said leaning over to Jasmine and making her jolt a little. The girl shone with excitement and Jasmine admired her apparent innocent nature. "It's nothing as elegant as what you're used to, but it would be a beautifully warm shawl all the same."

Jasmine hesitated, "That is very kind of you, Hadassah. I don't want to cause you any trouble though."

"No trouble at all, dear," Tzipporah added, "Hadassah loves to make presents for those she cares about. It would bring her joy for you to accept." She looked at her daughter lovingly and Hadassah nodded in agreement.

Jasmine was uneasy with taking gifts when she already felt as if they were imposing on perfectly kind people. Allah only knew what Jafar was up to and adding more pressure to this family seemed unethical.

Still, the wide, unblinking stare Haddassah wore pulled on Jasmine's heart and she nodded. Hadassah squealed, draping her long arms over Jasmine's neck.

"You're going to look so beautiful. I'll start on it first thing in the morning." She stated proudly and Jasmine breathed a laugh, slightly envying Hadassah's candid charm.

Tzipporah made another pot of tea, and soon after the men had finished catching up and decided it was time to turn in for the night. Jasmine and Jafar walked to their room after saying goodnight, and were alone yet again with estranged tension.

* * *

Cyrus kissed his children goodnight one by one, and then met with his wife on the balcony and wrapped his shawl over her shoulder's. She gave a wanton smile. Cyrus leaned on the railing with his elbows, peering out at the Lord's creation.

"You're still uneasy with this my love?" He asked in a quiet hush. Tzipporah didn't respond. "Jafar may have a darkness to him, but there's goodness in his heart. I see it inside him."

"Do you?" Tzipporah nearly mocked with doubt then reeled in her emotions. Cyrus pulled a face admiring how often she struggled to catch herself in order to be an obedient wife - little did she know he loved that she spoke her mind. And he waited easily for her to continue.

"That girl he is with . . . the Queen. He stole her Kingdom from her, didn't he? She's the one he used to get to power?"

Cyrus nodded quietly somber. He hadn't known the full story but it wasn't difficult to fill in the blanks.

"And he's going to steal from us too. Isn't he?"

"Tzipporah . . ."

She turned to him, panic clear in her voice, "Why did he come, Cyrus. Tell me, I know you know."

Cyrus looked off avoiding his wife's piercing eyes. She was fearless and passionate about everything she cared for. One of the many reasons he fell in love with her and left the Forty Thieves. She had turned his life around, brought him to the light and showed him the power of true love. Forever Cyrus would admire and cherish his wife for each special part of who she was. But this time he couldn't agree with her fiery spirit.

Cyrus leaned back over the railing as he spoke. "Jafar is looking for the Forty Thieves . . . he's planning a war against them."

Tzipporah slapped a hand over her mouth with a teary gasp. "But . . . Malachi?"

At the mention of their eldest son's name Cyrus turned his hands as if washing them. It had been years since it was spoken aloud, as he'd forbade anyone from doing so, and the name clawed at Cyrus' heart.

Although they'd barely broached the topic after dinner, Cyrus knew undoubtedly that Jafar had come bent on revenge, and furthermore would do whatever necessary to achieve it. It was easy to connote where Cyrus stood in the equation.

"Jafar knows." Cyrus mumbled scratching against the gruff of his neck, "I believe he's going to try and use Malachi as a pawn somehow."

"But Malachi's just a boy, Cyrus! He could be killed!" Tzipporah huffed, suddenly infuriated again as she paced and shoved an accusing finger, "I told you he would only bring darkness with him, Cyrus, and now he's come to destroy what remains of our family. A man like that is as manipulative as a snake, dripping with schemes and evil and death. And he's in there right now next to our children!"

"Calm yourself woman," Cyrus closed his eyes taming his ire. He hated being cross with her. "Jafar may be many things now, but the Jafar I knew as a boy is still in there. And he would never harm a child." He added plainly.

Tzipporah scoffed digging fists into her hips.

"I will handle Jafar the same way you did me. With patience and compassion."

Tzipporah dug her knuckles into her thin lips and shook her head. She placed a gentle touch to her husband's shoulders speaking more lovingly as she tried to reason. "You see the good in everyone, Cyrus because you _are_ good. You've always been a decent man capable of being pulled back to the light. But – sometimes I wonder if your tender heart will be the cause of leading you back to where you were. Jafar is your past, and he will only drag you back there into the muck and mire." She rested her head on him, "I've already lost a son to the evilness of the world. I can't lose you too."

Cyrus knew his wife was right. The hungry shadows that lingered in the past were constantly lurking about; waiting to ensnare and bring him back to the pit of hell. For decades he had told himself he wasn't worthy of redemption, that his family, good fortune, and abundance of love and new friendships weren't rightfully his. That he didn't deserve any of the things he had especially after all the evil he'd done in his youth.

When Malachi went to join the Forty Thieves, Cyrus knew it had happened as validation of his biggest fear – Cyrus was being punished for believing he could ever be worthy of love and happiness. The loss of his son was a cruel reminder that Cyrus was never far from destruction of his former life and that sooner or later he would fall prey to it yet again; next time it would bring his family down too. It was a fear that had made him lose sleep most nights and a burden he'd tried to mask for the sake of his family.

Tzipporah sniffed loudly, "Please just send them away, back to where they came. Their fight is not ours."

Jafar's being here did bring a sense of concern yet Cyrus could not, in good conscience, deny Jafar the same opportunity for healing, simply because he was afraid of the past.

"I understand your fears, Tzipporah . . . But it is not the Lord's way. I can't abandon Jafar when all he has ever known is abandonment. You loved me through the blackest parts of my heart and that may be exactly what will save Jafar now – and in turn the future of our son." He looked down at her as she lifted her face to meet him. Tears pooling in her eyes. He kissed the top of her head and after a long moment the cold forced them inside and they headed to bed in silence.

* * *

The bedroom was quaint yet lovely with arches and an alcove for the bed. The room pertained a small desk, lanterns along the walls, a washtub in the corner, a basin and a vanity, and dresser. The windows were arches as well and covered in glass paneling. It was warm enough, even without the small fireplace lit, but Jasmine felt her skin prickle at the back of her arms due to the frigidity of her companion.

Jafar came to lean over the desk, rolled out a few scrolls and used a quailed pen to mark it in certain areas as he remained standing. He hadn't said a word to her since their tiff that morning – regarding the horse arrangement, and Jasmine threatening to walk the rest of the way to Israel – and the wedge he'd placed between them all month grew more uncomfortable by the second. If she was going to be stuck here on an unwanted trip, then he needed to meet her halfway. (By this point she'd even settle for senseless arguing.)

Jasmine rocked up onto her toes as she sucked in her lips and worked her hands uncomfortably. Jafar flashed a dark sideways glance as she made a popping noise with her mouth, and breathed dangerously slow to steady his irritation. Jasmine bit the corner of her lip, dragging the flesh under her teeth painfully hard, leaving it swollen and darkened. She treaded carefully around to the side of where he stood, keeping a reasonable amount of distance between them. When Jafar still refused to acknowledge her, Jasmine open and closed her mouth, finding her voice catching in her throat and her heart racing violently in her ears. Even after all this time, being alone with the man made her petrified, and Jasmine settled for something basic to say.

"They seem nice. . ." Her voice was pinched and she cleared her throat, "Cyrus and his family. They're very hospitable … that is," her words trailed off.

Jafar remained vigilant on his task and the blatant discounting behavior made Jasmine fidget all the more.

"It's a beautiful city, Israel . . . Tzipporah said there'll be snow soon. Hadassah is making me a shawl too." her voice rose in sincere excitement, then fell again as Jafar took a deep breath in apparent irritation. If that was supposed to deter her from talking it'd had the opposite effect. "So, how did you and Cyrus meet? His wife said Cyrus was in the military for a little while. Were you as well?"

"If it's all the same to you," came an abrupt interruption and Jasmine flenched, "I find my work much more important than your constant babbling, and require a bit of _silence_." He bit thickly as he tilted his head and strummed his fingers on the side of the desk.

Jasmine's mouth fell open and he smirked turning back to stare down at the papers.

"I can't do this anymore!" She nearly shouted with a slap of her arms and Jafar reluctantly straightened, seemingly unimpressed with her outburst but deciding he had little choice in the matter.

He bore an expression that suggested she was an inconvenience and it caused her blood to boil.

"I can't handle this – rift. This stiff, awkward, silent treatment," she waved to the air between them, "It's not. . . _Us_."

_Did you seriously just put that label on you and Jafar?_

Jafar remained calm, shrugging his shoulders impassively as his hands clasped in front. "So, you prefer me to lash out at you, is that it? To beat and ultimately break your spirits on a day to day basis, just so you can feel that there is some _consistency_ in our operation?"

She gave a guttural scoff, "No! . . . I just, God, I understand _fighting_ with you. I understand deploring one another and fencing back and forth as enemies. Hell, I would even accept a rough, relentless pounding in which you try to teach me some morbid lesson –."

Jasmine sucked her tongue to the roof of her mouth and stiffened, morbidity burning her core.

Jafar's brows cocked as he gave a bemused smirk. "Indeed?"

Her stomach coiled like a spring as she tried to recant her statement, "Not, _that_ I don't want that, necessarily, I . . . Never mind." Jasmine shook her head as if clearing her mind and attempted to appear domineering. "I just want to know what the hell is wrong with you lately."

Jafar wore an inscrutable look, "Are you to tell me that you're _unpleased_ by my self-control during your time of physical limitations? That you would rather have me whip, chain, and suffocate you instead of showing rare restraint out of respect for your injuries?"

Jasmine inhaled taken back. That wasn't what she envisioned his response to be and suddenly she felt like a dolt for complaining.

"Because if so, my dear, that is a level of wanton debauchery that even _I_ find deplorably unrefined." He gave a wicked side smile. "I prefer my victims to be in good health, first. Stamina and all."

Jasmine gave a roll of the eyes, clasping her hands on her hips as she paced aimlessly from side to side, ignoring his twisted humor. "Listen. I understand that you're a twisted villain and that you're the mighty powerful sorcerer, and ruler of Agrabah, and all the titles and facades that go with it. But, can you for once, in your life, pretend to be human?"

His head tilted up menacingly as he peered below at her. The skin along his jaw drawing taut as he clenched his teeth, and a tick worked at the corner of his eye. Jasmine swallowed dryly, refusing to keep quiet anymore. She'd never spoken candidly like this, or confronted him on a personal humanistic level. But all this estranged, cold shoulder stiffness needed to end, and she was clearly the only one adult enough to take the first step.

Jasmine let out a breath. "I am miles from my home and disconnected from everything I have ever known, and once again the only person that remains constant in my life is _you_. Whether I like it or not. So, at least for now, can you _please_ just be my husband, and stop pretending to be some cold distant monster that feels nothing?"

A ghost-like flinch flickered over his expression but he quickly recovered with an air of complete self-assurance. "If you're wanting me to coddle your insecurities, to, soothe your disappointment of unrequited fantasies, I'm afraid you will be sorely disappointed."

Jasmine closed her eyes briefly covering the back of her arms with stiff hands. Of course she didn't want him to give her comfort. That would be like extracting a tooth from a tiger – painful and one of them would inevitably lose a limb. All she'd wanted was to know that she wasn't crazy for believing he was partly human. That the warmth she inevitably felt for him wasn't misguided and that there could be hope for him after all. She just wanted peace, even if it was only for the time being. Since a full breakthrough seemed far from existent, Jasmine decided to pick and choose her battles.

She chewed the inside of her cheek then exhaled dramatically. "Whatever. Can you at least _pretend_ to be my _husband_ and not my goddamn master? It's awkward and going to raise plenty of questions from other people." There. That sounded reasonable enough without letting on about her ambivalence towards him.

He blew out a breath and adjusted his posture. "Very well, then. To appease your erratic emotional state and improve my ability to get work done, I will _attempt_ to be less – _standoffish_." He showed his teeth in a vicious smile.

Jasmine shrugged, went to the bed and pulled back the covers. It wasn't exactly what she'd wanted, but it did mean she could experience the rest of their trip with less estranged tension.

Jafar watched her darkly, vexed by her cheery attitude as if she'd won some secret battle. "Are you satisfied, little mouse?"

Jasmine looked up with delight at the most delicious opportunity and gave her most coquettish smirk, "Unfortunately, not in a _very_ long time."

Jafar's sneer dropped and she had to clench her teeth to keep from laughing and quickly climbed into bed.

"Well then, I'll be sure to add your sexual peeking to my apparently never ending list of accommodations."

"Please do," she added pulling an innocent face, "And while you're at it, maybe try to be less of a sadistic jerk. Cyrus might give you what you want more willingly if you don't look at his children like you're going to eat them."

Jafar glowered, mustering the most hateful look possible. Jasmine merely bit her lip sweetly, turned over on her side and pulled the covers up under her arm. He wanted to rip the fabric from her curvaceous young body and enact the most wicked forms of pleasure he knew possible, until her lungs burned from screaming his name. He would thrust himself full and deep within her throat so relentlessly that tears would form in her eyes and a gurgling noise would catch in her throat as he made her gag.

Though such a punishment held merit, the image became lackluster and he peeled his hungry gaze off her.

He'd spent so many weeks trying to keep her at a distance to banish any traces of sentiment; yet it only seemed to make matters worse, leaving a void that he couldn't quit place. Jasmine belonged to him and though he could rightfully claim her body – and earn mutual enjoyment in doing so – there was little victory in it anymore. What he wanted was far more than that, no matter how pathetic it was to admit. But it would be far more degrading to give into the little witch while she continued to detest him. (Lying on her back as she imagined someone else while he lost himself inside of her.) To own her physically had been too easy, it was her heart and mind he wanted to possess.

The moment that he took Jasmine again, and take her he would in every delicious way possible, would be because _she_ wanted it. He'd waited agonizingly for years to make her his, and another night wasn't going to hurt. And once she accepted her desires, Jasmine would be quavering with need, pleading for him to be hers, and it would be a most delicious victory indeed.

A smirk splayed across his mouth as he blew out the candle and pulled Jasmine possessively into him. She was impeccably warm and soft to the touch – her hair falling in his face engulfing him in the sweet flowered scent that was uniquely Jasmine. She was his weakness and for that he continued to cling to his hatred – despite how the faintest pieces of armor were softening towards her.

His mind drifted again to the bewitching vision of Jasmine crawling to him, panting and wet, begging for his touch, and it gave him back a sense of power. Confidence resumed control as he assured himself Jasmine was not a necessity for his happiness, but that _she_ would be lost without him; and he fell into a peaceful sleep.

The same could not be said for Jasmine however, as terrifying visions of death and sadness flooded her dreams once more.


	21. Chapter 21: Vices

It was barely dawn when Cyrus punctually climbed out of bed, letting his bare feet land on the cold hard floor. As he did every morning before sunrise, Cyrus headed out on his balcony, which faced the direction of Jerusalem, and prayed fervently. Then when his heart felt at ease and regenerated with strength for the day, Cyrus headed back inside and down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Cyrus set a pot to boil and placed the tea leaves in a china cup; cracking his toes and fingers as he waited for the kettle to hiss. He took out a few dried pieces of fruit from a stone-paste pottery bowl and popped them in his mouth – closing his eyes and running fingers through his hair as he whispered a prayer under his breath.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting."

Cyrus whirled around at the sudden deep voice, a split second suspending his breath as he flung a hand to his chest and another to the counter ledge; the latter sending the china cup to shatter on the floor.

"Jafar?" he breathed a laugh releasing the cloth of his kaftan and letting his eyes adjust to the shadowed figure seated at the end of the table. "You scared me senseless – I didn't see you."

"I noticed." Jafar's white teeth shone in the pale light, "Please, forgive my minatory appearance. Early riser is all."

Cyrus swallowed the lump in his throat and uneasily looked down at the broken china. Just as Cyrus went to gather up the pieces Jafar swirled a long finger in the air and instantly the cup was repaired and set perfectly back on the flat top.

Cyrus winced trying to remain polite. "I prefer it if magic wasn't used in our home, my friend. Nothing personal."

Jafar palmed his chest in mock hurt, then smiled reasonably. "Understandable – all magic, no matter how minuscule, _does_ comes with a price. I assume your right to be leery of it."

Cyrus arched his mouth looking a little forlorn. The pot hissed loudly shattering the growing silence and Cyrus jolted, turning to the kettle. "Would you like some tea?" Cyrus called over his shoulder, already preparing a second cup.

"Please."

"I'm usually the only one up so early. It's my special time with the Lord – to clear my head and prepare me for the new day." Cyrus felt less rattled when speaking about God. He fixed another bit of leaves and poured the steaming water over top then added a swirl of honey to each. "I wasn't expecting to see you until later in the day." He chuckled and sat down adjacent to Jafar.

Jafar tilted his head, "If my presence is an unwelcome one, by all means, I'll leave you to your mitigations."

Cyrus sipped the tea with a pleasant smile. "What? No, no. Stay, I could use the company. I trust your room was to your liking?"

"Yes, quite. Your hospitality has been more than adequate." Jafar paused to bring the tea to his sly mouth. He could tell Cyrus was on edge and it only made the impending conversation more entertaining. "My wife also seems to have taken a likeness to you and your family."

The Israeli man chuckled and Jafar eyed him over the brim of his cup. Cyrus continued.

"And we all like her very much. Tzipporah too. Jasmine is a lovely, sweet woman, isn't she? I know your marriage was more or less _unideal_, but, there's certainly a gleam in her eyes when she's around you."

_What the hell does that mean? _Jafar's face ticked with rigidity then reigned into a collected mask, turning business-like. He placed his cup down and laced his fingers.

"We both know why I've come." He interjected when Cyrus looked ready to dribble more romanticized nonsense. "And though I so often place value on sentimental reunions, I prefer to get to the point."

Cyrus' dark, wispy brows, rose into his hair line. It wasn't that Jafar hadn't always been ruthlessly candid, but Cyrus was out of practice dealing with such a brazen personality. "Yes, of course," He mumbled, trying to match Jafar's austere posture.

"As you know Agrabah was attacked by the Forty Thieves. They ransacked my city, murdered my people, and I've a score to settle." Jafar gestured to Cyrus with a flick of his hand. "And I require the assistance of a retired member in unveiling their location."

Cyrus sucked his lip into his gums, taking the tiny cup in both hands and rubbing the brim of the porcelain. "Jafar. I'm more than retired – that was a _lifetime_ ago."

"But, you know their patterns, their routes, their mindsets." Jafar reminded sternly, "there must be a safe haven, a cavern where they return often to keep their more valuable treasures . . ."

"They relocate all the time Jafar" Cyrus interrupted gently, then gave a pleading look. It was painful to talk about the past. "And, besides . . . I never knew where the main treasures were hidden. That was for the elders alone," Cyrus shrugged. He didn't agree with it, but it was the lesser of two evils. "Can't you just use . . . _magic_ to find them?"

Jafar looked passively at his clean-cut fingernails. "If I was able to do so, do you honestly think I'd have wasted time in coming here first?" He darted a look to Cyrus then decided to behave himself. "Something or _someone_ is keeping the Thieves hidden, blocking my powers with their own." He splayed firm fingers over his wide chest in emphasis, "Considering they have a force capable of prohibiting the most powerful sorcerer in the world, you can imagine I am rather concerned and that time is of the essence. This goes beyond revenge. Its self-preservation for my kingdom, and by further definition, people like you and your family."

Cyrus dug his thumb and forefinger into his eyes rubbing free the tension. He didn't ever partake in the realm of magic or witchcraft – and the conversation of it now sent gooseflesh over the back of his arms. "I was just a boy back then, Jafar. I have no connection left with the Thieves." Cyrus intentionally left out Malachi's name – Jafar hadn't mentioned him, and if it was possible Cyrus wanted to keep Jafar from the idea.

However, as the silence grew thicker Cyrus knew precisely what Jafar was thinking.

Jafar leaned back in his seat, a flash of light dotting his dark eyes and making them look demonic. He strummed his fingers over the table top rhythmically. Cyrus sighed, not wanting to meet Jafar's deviant gaze.

"So – You _did_ get my letter?" Cyrus whispered with a grunted laugh.

Jafar's expression remained covert. "I did."

Cyrus dug his tongue against the backside of his teeth to take a moment to calm himself. "Then, in my darkest, loneliest hour, when I turned to a friend for guidance –." he trailed off, drifting to a moment in the past, then exhaled reeling in his emotions, "but you couldn't be bothered with commoners anymore I suppose." Cyrus joked sarcastically. Jafar deliberately rose his brows.

"Yes, well, I've never been _adequate_ in consoling a contrite spirit. Moreover, I assumed you would have turned to your _wife_ about your son – my mistake in believing your marriage was free of deception."

Cyrus leaned back in his chair with a frown. He picked up his cup and cautiously sipped the scolding fluid. Tzipporah had been right. Jafar was here for his own selfish reasons and had changed since they'd last met. True they were just children back then. (Jafar no more than eleven at the time when they'd met.) Jafar had run away from home for a time – as had Cyrus – and in their misery and fear a bond had been formed. But the man sitting before him was no longer that wide eyed child who had clung to hope for survival. This was a ruthless sorcerer, a powerful sultan, a manipulator, and a lost soul – _Even the lost deserve to be found, just as you were._

Cyrus' lined hands rubbed at the condensation forming on the cup. He kept his head low. "Then if you know what happened – you know that I no longer have contact with," his throat grew narrow, "_Malachi_."

Jafar gave a look that insisted he wouldn't be placated by empathy and Cyrus waved his hand in the air with a shrug. "Even _if_ I could find a way to contact him – I can't condone the bloodshed that is sure to follow. There are children and women among them Jafar. Innocent blood."

"As I recall you have had your own share of innocent bloodshed." Jafar reminded coolly, unable to keep the corners of his mouth from turning up, as if recalling a fond memory. "Allow _me_ to worry about the technicalities."

Cyrus leaned forward, digging his elbows into his knees as he wrung his hands anxiously. "What will come of my son – will you kill him too?"

"Should you hold up your end of the deal Malachi's life will be spared." When Cyrus looked uncertain, Jafar inhaled as if bored and flicked at a dust spot on the table. "I give you my word." He assured dryly. "Now do we have an agreement?"

It had been six years since Cyrus seen Malachi. Six years that he had been tormented not knowing if his son was alive or dead, or how deeply he had fallen into the darkness. Cyrus spent restless nights plagued with nightmares about Malachi's way of life. (A never-ending punishment for Cyrus' own evils.) He may never speak to his son again – but to have Malachi out of harm's way, and the ability to start life anew, Cyrus felt there to be no other viable option. And in the meantime, Cyrus could work on showing Jafar a different way of life – a way to love and find a healing of his own. _Two birds one stone._

"I need some time to think it over. A day or so in prayer."

"Naturally." Jafar finished his tea, stood and stabbed a long finger down on the oak, speaking thick with warning. "After you've spoken to your god, keep in mind that _I _am not as lenient as your deity. I came to you first out of respect for our history, but one way or another I _will_ get what I am after. It would be a shame for your son to be caught in the crossfires due to your misjudgment." He sneered, "_Again_."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes growing painfully still as he stared up at Jafar. He didn't take kindly to threats nor to heart wrenching reminders. If Cyrus were the same man he'd been before meeting Tzipporah, then the conversation wouldn't go over nearly as smoothly; never mind if Jafar would win – the old Cyrus never would have backed down.

Instead, he took a breath, rubbed his palm over a knee, and nodded, breaking eye contact.

Jafar's large hand came down on Cyrus' shoulder. "Then I'll see you this evening, my friend."

Cyrus agreed silently and Jafar turned to head up the stairs towards the guest room. When the upstairs door open and closed quietly, Cyrus let his shoulders relax and stretched the tension from his lower back. After draining his tea, Cyrus cleared the cups then dressed in a warm fur mintan and headed out for his early morning stroll – praying the entire way and reliving the past he so often tried to forget.

* * *

_Safed Israel, 1693_

_Fifteen-year-old Malachi strolled the streets of Safed during midday. The marketplace sold jewelry, pottery, and an abundance of fruits and vegetables. Children chased each other through the stands and a merchant shooed them away with a cloth, making them squeal mischievously and dart towards the other direction. Malachi couldn't help but laugh with a beam of joy illuminating his tan oval face and he moved along peacefully watching the people around him._

_Mirela danced in the streets, fanning her colorful skirt and tossing her wild brown hair as she ducked and weaved to the drums her people played. Her eyes were blue pools with streaks of jade. A rare jewel unlike any that Malachi had ever seen before. His mouth parted, tongue growing heavy in his mouth as he watched the Romani dancer from afar. Most everyone ignored her and the few she was accompanied by – the gypsies known for their sleight mannerisms and gentile ways. But Malachi was entranced and as their eyes locked, and she awarded him with a blushing smile, the young man knew instantly that he'd found the one God intended him to marry._

_Mirela and Malachi stole away together in the night and by morning he had been turned into a man and made plans to wed her. Malachi returned home with Mirela at his side to seek his father's blessing – fate however had different plans._

_"She's not right for you! How could you bring her into our home? Around your pregnant mother for God's sake? I forbid it Malachi!" Cyrus bellowed with stentorian power. His anger getting the best of his emotions. The wench was just outside the front door and could probably hear – let her hear._

_Malachi puffed his chin, eyes forward in the distance, "I love her father."_

_"Love?" Malachi spat, digging a fist into his hip while stabbing an accusing finger, "Her beauty has bewitched and blinded you – that is not love Malachi, it is lust!"_

_"And she loves me."_

_Cyrus nearly spat as he laughed sardonically. "And I assume our family's good fortune and wealth plays no part in it?" Cyrus smacked his hands together in front of his son, causing Malachi to flinch. "Wake up boy! She will rob us blind and leave you with a broken heart. She's part of the darkness, and no son of mine will form a union with such wickedness – I forbid it!" He finished with spittle forming at his mouth._

_The boy's neck corded, the muscles in his cheeks flinching to hold back his own anger and hurt. Cyrus stormed off, ushering Hadassah and Josiah into their rooms and forbidding Tzipporah from seeing their son. Malachi could hear his mother in the other room sobbing and Cyrus trying to calm her. He closed his eyes briefly at the threat of tears._

_"Malachi?" Mirela whispered from the doorway post, her eyes wet and lip trembling. "It's alright, Malachi. You belong with your family and I belong with . . ." she hiccoughed a sob, "With my people."_

_Malachi rushed to her, taking the young girl in his arms as he stroked her hair. "Shh, hush my beloved. Nothing will separate my love for you. Not even death itself can keep us apart." He whispered sweetly in her ear, Mirela's tears dotting the fabric of his robes._

_Malachi loved his siblings, and the unborn child in his mother's womb. He adored his mother, and respected his father. But there was one thing he loved more than the rest – one of whom he was certain was created to fit the other half of his heart. He had already lain with her - their souls already part of each other and he would be with her despite all odds; even if that meant marrying her outside of the law of Judaism – outside of his father's blessing._

* * *

Cyrus walked despondently through the stone streets of Safed, across the valley on the outskirts of the city and arrived at the top of a frost-bitten hill where an ancient olive tree, that bore the weight of centuries passed, was mounted.

The trunk was deeply gnarled and curved in deformed knots. Its hollow roots grew straight up out of the earth, each with an impressive width of several meters. It was more than a tree – it was a supernatural force that had witnessed the history of life and death; maintaining a rustic aura that both silenced the spirit and awakened the soul. Through drought, disease, and famine this tree had survived the trials of time and still bore life. A factor that calmed Cyrus and led him to believe that even after destruction beauty was still possible.

He sat beneath the tree, lowering his forehead to one of the roots and closing his eyes. He had always come here for refuge and a place to speak with God. And though it still was his safe haven, the spot of the ancient tree had been turned into a beckon of shameful regret.

* * *

_Word traveled quickly within the walls of Safed. Before day's end, Cyrus had heard rumors of his son's preparation to flee and wed the Romani gypsy girl. Cyrus thanked the men who had come to him in private, and he'd taken the rest of the night to pray alone. He traveled to his favorite spot, high on a hill outside of Safed, under an ancient tree and prayed fervently for guidance. Albeit, as the sun spilled across the land, signifying the hours passed in relentless prayer, Cyrus had yet to find peace and lacked a solitary word of discernment. Anger and fear weighed upon him like an anchor, drowning out all other sense of reason and numbing his ability to hear the Lord's voice. Sometimes the Lord took too long to reply – Cyrus had reasoned. This time he would take matters into his own hands, and pray for forgiveness after._

_He dragged her by the hand, tiny bare feet stumbling along the way as she tried to carry her small baggage._

_"Quickly now. Hurry. Hurry." Cyrus commanded in a hoarse whisper._

_"Where is Malachi?" She asked brittlely, looking back towards the disappearing city and then again to Cyrus as they ran through the tall grass._

_"He's waiting for us at the top of the hill. But we must hurry child." Cyrus lied. "The villagers know what you two are planning. They mean to hang you for your sins, I cannot let them harm you nor my son."_

_Mirela tripped with a yelp, dropping some of her items and Cyrus hurried to help her stand, then practically yanked her up the hill until they were beneath the olive tree and hidden from the moonlight._

_Cyrus looked around anxiously as if waiting for something and Mirela hugged herself feeling uneasy but wanting to trust the Israeli man. "W – Where is Malachi?"_

_Cyrus lowered his eyes guiltily and folded his hands in front, widening his stance as if to assert himself and not back down from his decision. Mirela stepped slowly away, color draining from her face as three burly men appeared and made their way towards her._

_"No," the girl wheezed, then screamed, "No! Don't do this Cyrus! I love Malachi! I love him! I would never hurt him – get off me, get your hands -." Her screams were snuffed out, one man holding her front and the other her feet as they carried her away into the night and towards a ship. The third man turned to Cyrus and received five silver coins._

_"Take her to a land far from this one – to the other side of the world even – but see that no harm comes to her. Here," Cyrus also handed a gold coin into the sweaty outstretched hand, "For food and supplies. Send word once she is safely taken care of. Understand?"_

_The sailor flashed a discolored, greedy smile, licking his lips with a dark tongue as he eyed the gold. "But of course," came a low croak that wafted a putrefied smell of rum. "Pleasure doing business."_

_Then as quickly as the decision had been made, Mirela was gone forever._

**_What have you done_**_ – came a voice from within and Cyrus stumbled backward, hard against the olive tree. His eyelids turned hot and he found it difficult to breath; a swelling pain sprouting from his gut and intertwining its vines around his lungs. It had been a mistake, but there was nothing he could do about it now. What he'd done he did for his son – to keep Malachi from the path of destruction that Cyrus himself had encountered too often. It was for Malachi's own good. For the good of the family – and in time Malachi would come to see that._

* * *

Cyrus cleared his throat through his nose, pinching his face as he held his breath. The pressure built up behind his face as he pulled a colored scarf from inside his robe, and twisted it tightly in his hands. Mirela had dropped it when she tripped. Cyrus, finding it on his way back to the house that night. Cyrus had hidden it away and persisted with his web of lies. First to his wife. Then to his son.

He'd told Malachi that Mirela had fled and abandoned him. It had broken his son's heart but Cyrus assured himself it was the best way – that Malachi would soon forget her and move on. But Malachi did not forget and swiftly fell into a pit of despair, refusing to eat or leave the house for days on end. Then, several months after the fact, a letter came for Cyrus, and Malachi got ahold of it first. The words inscribed on the parchment would forever be engraved on Cyrus' soul.

_"Honoured Sir,_

_I am uncertain whether the late misfortunes have come to your knowledge; however, I most humbly regret to write you the condition of the Romani girl aboard our vessel. Whence we arrived in England her condition was critically impaired and she was nearly three months pregnant. Many a times I had witnessed her sufferings and yet the Captain and crew refused to listen to me pleads for her well-being. Mirela died shortly after our landing as did her unborn child. She was pleased once to stifle me as a friend during our voyage and as an act of kindness I promised to send word of her fate to a man she called Cyrus._

_I pray this letter finds you well, as it is with generosity and humbleness that I present such terrible news._

_EG, 1694"_

The memories grew ever vivid and Cyrus could keep back his tears no longer. He trembled violently falling on his forearms and lowering his head to the frozen ground. Mirela was dead because of him. Malachi had acted out of vengeful hurt and joined a mob of murdering thieves to spite his father. All this because of Cyrus' selfish cowardliness. Tzipporah still never knew what Cyrus had done – no one but Malachi had discovered the truth. Well, and Jafar.

It was a mistake, a shameful, twisted error, in which Cyrus had pleaded with God, a million times over, to undo. Cyrus had even begged to trade _his_ life for that of Mirela's and the unborn babe.

Cyrus pulled his legs under his core, gripping at the dirt as he wept at the base of the tree. His stomach was hard, shoulders quaking as he sobbed and muttered words that begged for forgiveness and a way to undo what had been done. All he had ever wanted was for his son to be happy and lead a fulfilling life overflowing with love and joy – _you may have robbed Malachi of his first chance, but that doesn't mean you don't have an opportunity to fix it._

Cyrus stilled with breaths calming and less choppy. If Jafar could accomplish what was needed, and if he held true to his word, Malachi would be free of a life with the Forty Thieves; could possibly return home, or at the very least find a new place to settle down, find a woman to marry, and get the happy ending he always deserved.

With that, Cyrus' decision had been made.


	22. Chapter 22: Tainted Virtues

A slovenly imp scampered like a cockroach through the limestone city – careful to avoid any familiar faces that he may owe money to. He'd switched cities, coming from Irbid to Safed a few weeks ago, but that didn't mean there weren't thugs out looking for him here already. Therefore, he was constantly on alert and kept a low profile.

His beard was full of stale bread crumbs and smelled of spit and stale tobacco; regards to sleeping in a tavern floor the night before. His ragged clothes, stained with yellow sweat and urine, pervaded a stench so vile he could be mistaken for a shit covered pig – and often times was. But the foulness of his exterior was less offensive in comparison to the wretchedness effervescing within his scandalous heart.

Abis Mal was a huckster, peddling cheaply made trinkets and artifacts while selling them for the cost of the real deal, as well as a procurer of hard to find objects. The latter his most providential yet risky line of work. He usually conducted both businesses in an actual building, but for now he'd had to settle for peddling out of his cart in the back of a secluded alley way. There were no windows or exits along the walled off area, which bode well for him.

His hands made quick work setting out the makeshift treasures, and signs of pricing. Before long, his first customer approached. Allah how he loved the early risers when the morning was still new and the sun had not yet shone willingly upon his shop.

A timid-stepping woman with sandy brown hair peered down the alley, making a noise of discontent in the small of her throat.

"May I help you?" The imp called with honeyed animosities.

The noise happened again, this time a little more aggressively, groaning with concern of whether or not she should approach the enshrouded area.

"Something for your husband perhaps?"

With a voice, all the more timorous than her mannerisms, she stammered, "I'm – I'm to get something. Something. But I can't – can't r–remember."

"Bah!" Abis Mal waved the loon away, turning back around to spit on one of the execrable trinkets and smudge the surface with the discolored corner of his shirt. A distinct jangle of coins sounded and turned the scandal's ear outward.

"Wait just a minute!" he sneered, "Perhaps – I _can_ help you." He lunged several paces out of the denlike hall, pulled the petite girl by her shoulder's and guided her into the shadows.

She held up a brown, goat skin, drawstring bag.

"My father gave me this to pay. Is there enough for what I need?"

Abis Mal snatched it impatiently, tossed it in the air, and caught it with a dull jingle. Rubbing anxious fingers over the bag of coins, fat lips pulled back to reveal the metal in his mouth and he waggled untamed brows. "Barely, my dear. But I'll accept this amount in exchange for, let's say, this necklace and bracelet."

Her hazel eyes watered, shifting side to side over the arrangement of junk. "Well – umm. I think I was supposed to get something to eat. Not wear."

"Ahh! But why eat when you can look beautiful!" He placed the necklace around her neck and had her look into the broken hand mirror. "Imagine – you're walking through Safed and every eligible, wealthy bachelor has his eye on you. Before you know it, you'll be dining like a queen and have more food than you could ever desire."

She pondered for a minute, but her simple mind was easily stolen – with a greasy, clammy handshake, Abis Mal closed the deal; leaving a commoner girl with plastic jewelry and a grumbling belly, and himself ten bronze coins richer.

"There's always a sucker!" he sniggered tossing the purse bag and snatching it back again.

"I couldn't agree more."

Abis Mal jumped at the velvety voice – one he'd heard before – spinning around to face the recesses of the alley, but finding only unforgiving darkness at the back of the wall.

"Who – who's back there?" Another thug he owed money to no doubt. "I'm not open for any new business right now."

"And what of old business?" The man oily hummed. (Had intelligence, of any kind, not been lost on Abis Mal, the imp may have detected dangerous ground.)

Damnit! He knew it! "Listen rat, I don't owe you anything, whoever you are. And even if I did you aint gettin' it. Now get out of my shop before I call for help."

A sonorous laughter, deep and rolling, pricked at the tissue under Abis Mal's skin. Polished gold stepped first into a ray of light, then a black headdress with demonically dark features to boot. Abis Mal paled, frozen where he stood.

"Jaf – Jafar." He warbled shakily, glancing around for a passerby or customer to come and intervene. But there was no one within shouting distance of the dark little alley. "What're you doing – that is. I didn't expect to see you in Israel."

"You're unhappy to see me then?" his tongue clicked with theatrical disappointment. "Such a pity. And after our last encounter I'd have thought we were _friends_."

Abis Mal withdrew a distasteful hat off his balding head, dandruff falling on to stout shoulder's in the process. He twisted the fabric in his clammy hands. "What can I do for you, your majesty?"

Jafar watched disinterested at the cart of junk as he spoke with calm superiority. "As I recall we're still in the middle of the last thing I asked you to do for me." He flashed a sideways look, and bared a crooked smile. "Isn't, that right?"

Crusted white flakes clouded around Abis Mal's neck and shoulder's as he nodded ferociously. 'I was getting right on that – I've leads and the sort. That's why I came to Safed." He lied, though it was a happy coincidence that his lead had landed in Israel.

Eyebrows arched with a widened flash of opaque eyes. "Mm?" Jafar smirked, picking up a chalice from out of the wooden box, and turned it over with a look of disgust. "All that I see, is my investment dwindling while the _imp_ I hired is wasting time robbing ill-minded children of their allowance." A single squeeze of the overt hand reduced the cup into a glittering pile of dust, seeping through the bottom of Jafar's fist as he darkly settled his gaze on Abis Mal.

"Hey!" Abis Mal whinnied pathetically.

Jafar dusted his hand, lengthening his spine, and resuming dark omniscience.

"That's my livelihood! I paid good money for that – you owe me a new one." Hat plopped slovenly back on his head, Abis Mal shifted around Jafar, back against the wall as he side-stepped. Jafar turned slowly, keeping an unrelenting watch on his target.

"And not one of the little tin ones either," Abis Mal dared to continue, "A gold chalice with – with diamonds and rubies on it. And a new hat!" Abis Mal put himself on the opposite side of the cart, figuring, for reasons lost on Jafar, that the measly wagon would protect him from the sorcerer. He leaned forward, hands on the edge of the cart. "Every good merchant has to have a good hat. Then – then we can discuss what else is owed."

"I agree – but why wait?" Whistling air was the only notice for what was to come, Abis Mal unable to retract his hand in time before the staff came hurling down on it, cracking his knuckles. Abis Mal screeched, shivering as he held his broken hand. He stepped backwards from Jafar, sobbing as he trembled.

"Now I paid a great deal of money for your services, and I expect you to deliver what's owed, within a reasonable amount of time."

"But I – gahk!" Abis Mal nearly vomited as Jafar thrusted the end of his staff into the pudgy gut.

Again, another blow, Abis Mal falling to his knees before Jafar hurled him up by the lining of his collar and bashed his stout figure into the back wall.

"Listen to me, you, filthy _gutter rat!_ If you've not found the ring before week's end, I'll take what's owed to me from the skin of your back." Jafar peeled his victim off, then slammed him back into the wall, forcing Abis Mal's head to bounce off the stone; blood forming at the base of his skull upon impact. "And if you think you can run from me again, I promise to find you no matter which disease ridden hole you slither _your wormy cunt under_!"

Abis Mal wheezed, spittle effervescing around the corners of his mouth as he sobbed. "Okay – okay I will now. I'll go now. Please don't kill me."

With a plummet, he was dropped to the ground and left crumpled there in the corner like a feral, injured animal, quavering with head low and face pinched tightly. Then, just as quickly as he had come, Jafar was gone from sight. Abis Mal gasped, spit flying form his lips as he inhaled and expelled the breath repeatedly, nursing his broken hand as he searched futilely for the coin bag that he'd had. When he didn't find it, Abis Mal broke into sputtering sobs and leaned against the wall, dipping his gruff chin into his tear soaked chest.

* * *

It was such a perfect morning!

Birds singing their praises, children laughing and squealing, Tzipporah humming in the kitchen as baked goods wafted through the home. Although Jasmine had a disturbed sleep the previous night, being woken twice by nightmares, the new day erased all worries or qualms, and Jasmine joyously joined the children and Tzipporah at the table for breakfast.

Cyrus was said to be praying out in the city, while Tzipporah made note that Jafar had been gone since before she came downstairs. To _where_ Jasmine doubted the woman knew, and therefore didn't care to ask further information.

It was lovely, just the girls, and of course Josiah, sharing a pleasant meal together. The children taught Jasmine another game, one with silly questions and riddles, and after bellies were bursting at the seams, Jasmine helped Tzipporah clean up, and listened to her read from a Hebrew bible. It was different and a little odd, but it held some pleasant stories and Jasmine held Opal in her lap as they listened from the rug on the floor.

By late morning, Tzipporah announced they were to go pray in the synagogues. Jasmine was invited to tag along, but she had plans of her own – taking the rare opportune moment to enjoy her freedom in a foreign city. Before the four of them left, Hadassah loaned Jasmine a warm shawl, promising in the process that the one she was sewing for her would be done by tomorrow. Jasmine gave cheeky kisses to them all, even Josiah, who had wiped it off with the back of his sleeve and a grimacing face, and headed into the city in opposing directions.

Jasmine went a little way. Absently looking around each merchant's stall, greeting random strangers with friendly smiles and occasionally stopping longer to ogle over someone's new baby and chat conversationally.

Her heart was light and full as she imagined a life where she lived like this daily. The presence of love, warmth and good natured friends encompassing her as she simultaneously maintained her freedom. Jasmine imagined for the time being that this was her reality. A life in which she was like the rest of them.

"Dammit, you simple fool. What does an old woman have to do to get some help!"

Jasmine's ears perked at the sound of distress, rippling through her fantasy like a fallen pebble.

_Done feeling sorry for yourself? Come on Jas, we've already been down this road before._

Jasmine heated while berating herself. Old habits die hard. She wasn't the only one who'd been divested during calamitous trials. Her father was trapped within his mind, Tahira was still missing and the other girls, including Ummah, had been destroyed due to the last time Jasmine tried to live a life that was not hers. There was no sense griping about what she _didn't_ have when so many had far less.

Jasmine cleared childish thoughts and headed over to the woman. She'd landed in front of the same flower stall and rocked onto her toes. When she smiled over, as pleasantly as possible, however, the hag grimaced and scooted aside as if Jasmine had physically shoved her out of the way.

_Alright then._ "How are you today ma'am. Keeping well I hope?"

Unblinking, bloodshot, yellow eyes slow turned towards Jasmine. The croons rooster-like neck swaying as she looked despondently up at Jasmine. "What's so good about it?" She hissed not letting Jasmine answer before spewing another line of discontent. "I'm at a flower shop, to buy flowers for a _funeral_; and after twenty minutes I still have _no_ flowers in my hand! Does that sound like someone who is keeping well?" She smacked her gums and looked forward again.

Jasmine pulled a face thinking hard on the dilemma and finding it irrational still. "I apologize for your loss – who is the funeral in memory of, if I might ask."

Same as before the hump-backed woman bulged her eyes and slow turned to look up at Jasmine. It was so theatrically portrayed that Jasmine couldn't help but choke back laughter, coughing into her hand, before she sucked in her lips.

Tangled brows raised deliberately into the woman's hairline, dragging with them a net of weather beaten lines. "You're an _impertinent_ stupid girl, aren't you? Sticking your sniveling little nose where it don't belong. Why you haven't even grown into your ears yet, and you've the gall to question me about who died."

A cane as crooked as her fingers waved at Jasmine's face. "I don't like you one bit! And now I don't even feel like buying flowers for _my_ funeral: which means there will be none there when they dump me in the ground!"

_What was that now_!?

The shrew hobbled along the street, griping to herself and bemoaning her miseries loud enough for Jasmine to hear. Jasmine threw up her shoulders and hands, scoffing bewilderment as she looked around her for an overhearer to validate that their interaction just now was completely puerile. Finding no one, Jasmine expelled a baffled breath, and slapped her hands to her side. She peered over the crowd and spotted the hobbling woman a fair distance away.

Jasmine hated feeling as if someone disliked her, especially when it was completely unwarranted. So, what else could she do but follow after the limping elderly woman to try and make amends? Jasmine hurried along through countless turns and crowded streets. The lack of direction and maze like city putting Jasmine at quit the disadvantage. She'd get lost repeatedly then at the last second catch a glimpse of the woman turning down another road.

The brooding woman turned one final time, disappearing into a small hovel at the bottom of a stone paved hill. Jasmine groaned picking up the pace and dashed, nearly tripping over her feet before coming to an abrupt halt. There was no door or windows decorating the stone shack; simply a low set archway – which opened into the relentless black shadows within – and a foreign encryption carved into the mantelpiece: κατάρα της μάγισσας.

It was desolate, where Jasmine stood; she hadn't remembered traveling this far from the main street. Echoes of the world fell away and the sun hid behind dark clouds. Desperation crept near, the unnatural silence convoluting.

A breeze nipped at her ankles and Jasmine shakily breathed, pulling inward as she held her stomach. "Hello? Eh-hem. Ma'am?"

No answer.

_Maybe you overestimated your state of wellbeing – there's no shame in going back. Maybe it's best not to do everything on your own._

She leaned forward still keeping a comfortable distance between herself and the dark hole. "I apologize for earlier . . . I didn't mean to offend you."

The shadows didn't respond.

Jasmine looked over her shoulder briefly – _still alone, _she thought – and hugged herself tighter. She opened her mouth to say something else, but thought better of it. Her skin pimpled with gooseflesh as a cold chill emanated from the darkness to settle on her flesh.

_Definitely no shame in running away either!_

But before she could turn to go – a breath. Slow, exhaling, whispering breaths lulled Jasmine's undivided attention. Senses dulled, eyes unblinking and concentrated on the shadows within. Her jaw slackened, lips parting and numb. Elegant arms hung dead weighted at either side as Jasmine glided forward on ghostlike steps. _Jasmine_. The shadows hissed in lingering, vibrating whispers. _Ja-ssss-mine_.

The trance held her, pulling at her blank mind; an unseen force beckoned that she step inside. Her eyes fogged over. Consience suppressed.

"_Jasmine_!" Cyrus hollered for the third time then bolted towards her, snatching Jasmine in his arms before she could dip her toe inside the hovel. A pin prick of something unseen scratched at his neck and he shouted his Lord's name for protection, wasting no time as he fled with jasmine in his arms up the large hill; stopping only when the darkness could no longer reach them.

With jittering hands, he planted Jasmine on the ground and shook her by the shoulders, pulling her eyelids wide as to examine her dilated eyes. He called her name again and cupped her cheeks in his hands, bowing his head to look head on at her sallow face.

She blinked pulling back rather disoriented. "What – what happened?"

Cyrus shook his head in exasperated relief, "Nothing. I ran into you, and you must've hit your head is all." he rushed to lie, not wanting to startle her with the truth. He'd tell Jafar about what happened as soon as possible - until then, they were safe.

"Is Jafar with you?" Cyrus continued, already searching the surrounding area with large worried eyes.

She shook her head no, still feeling a little hazed. She could remember chasing after _someone_, but the details were mottled. Had Cyrus ran into her? That would explain the headache and confusion. Cyrus looked her over again and jasmine dismissed her foggy memory, just thankful to see a kind face.

"It's not safe to be out here on your own. Come one – let's get you back dear."

They carried on a little ways but soon their path was greeted by a familiar, unwelcoming man. Jasmine's stomach plummeted stilling her breath.

"Jafar!" Cyrus intervened as if on cue. "We were just on our way to find you my friend. There's a banquet hall that serves excellent lunch. Wont the two of you join me? Tzipporah shall end up there soon as well and I think we left some matters unfinished this morning. We should talk." He said in one breath.

Jafar blankly fixed his eyes on Jasmine though and she lowered her gaze to the bits of grass that had sprouted their way up among the stones.

"How kind of you to offer, my friend. We'll be along in a moment. But first I require a word with my wife." An ominous pause ensued. "If you don't mind."

Jasmine's head darted back up, the entirety of her bottom lip being sucked under her teeth as she forgot to breathe.

"Of course, Jafar. Jasmine . . ." The Israeli man patted Jasmine sympathetically on the shoulder and gave Jafar a polite smile and nod as he walked past, back to the main streets. Leaving the estranged couple to their affairs.

Calmly Jafar began. "What are you doing out here, little girl?"

Jasmine looked away while crossing her arms and pressing the heels of her feet together. She was not a child! And didn't care for the reprimand.

"Have I not made myself clear often enough? Am I to believe you've forgotten the rules of the game?"

"I didn't do anything wrong." She whispered through narrowed lungs. The distance slowly erasing between them as he walked calmly forward.

"Indeed?" A smirk pulled at his devious lips. "Enlighten me, then."

_Fuck._

She'd not seen that look since the night he murdered Dracul. Jafar was darker than he'd been in a long time – a growling luster resided in the pit of his gaze; reaching over the edge of his dark eyelids to pull at the corners of his mouth; twisting his smile to mimic the licentious ploys he envisioned.

It'd only been a month – how could she forget who Jafar was? That his treachery wasn't only skin deep – his foundation was that of rotting wood; disfigured, tarnished, and festering with parasites. And though he could hide that part of himself when necessary his sadism was constantly effervescing, just beneath the surface.

_Lie! Lie your ass off!_

Sweetly she stated, "I was with Cyrus the whole time – we took a walk."

"_Start over."_ He warned forebodingly through clenched teeth.

Dammit. Still an awful liar – good to know. She cocked her hips, threw back her shoulders and jutted her chin, feeling a tinge of resentment. "Why does it matter to you where I am anyway? I'm not your concern –"

"– You're my _wife_."

"I'm your _baggage_!" she cried more brittle than intended, and tried to feign confidence, "I can take care of myself, Jafar. I don't need you."

"Can you indeed . . ."

With snap judgment, Jafar lurched out and dug the tips of his fingers into the meat of her arm, then dragged Jasmine behind him. She winced, gulping as she tried to keep up with his unreasonable pace. He turned left, down a narrow staircase, and then a right and another left; Jasmine's head dizzying as he yanked her around like a dog on a chain.

"Where're we going?" voice cracked then she yelped as he yanked harder, turning briskly down another street and heading straight for a dead end.

She envisioned what he planned to do – bash her head against the approaching stone wall. It was enshrouded with vines and leafy greens growing from the limestone, and Jasmine briefly hoped it would cushion some of the blow.

Jasmine pulled backwards, digging her heels into the decrepitated stones. "You're hurting me!"

Jafar snarled, twisting back to face and yank her back in place as he hissed, "I'm about to do much more than that."

"You're – _scaring_ – me!" Jasmine said brokenly.

"**_Good_**!"

Window shutters overhead slapped shut, startling Jasmine. Then a door, and a few more windows. Some children on their front steps were ushered inside by their father – who gave Jasmine a dirty look as they passed.

Apparently not everyone was nice and selfless like Cyrus and his family.

No one cared what happened to her – her marriage was her own problem. Her suffering of no one's concern. And, ironically enough, Jasmine felt more alone than she'd ever felt before.

As they approached the end of the street, his hand sprawled across her back and he shoved her between the shoulder blades, Jasmine tumbling forward with outstretched hands, shock roiling in her belly as she fell through the brush and through a hole in the wall. Her palms caught the gist of the fall, but her chin hit hard into the dark soil and her dress was ripped at the hem. She'd hoped Hadassah would be willing to teach her how to fix it.

"You're a bastard," Jasmine spit, looking over her shoulder and scrambling to her feet; Haddassah's shawl falling to the ground. But Jafar pounced taking his staff horizontal in both hands and shoved Jasmine to the right, pinning her to the wall.

Her hands shot up, catching the staff just before it plunged into her neck; Jafar's hands on either side of her own as he continued to pin her in place. She whimpered, groaning in a frantic pitch, feet digging into the earth and her scarred back cutting into the jagged stones as she struggled. Jasmine blinked rapidly, eyes adjusting to the darkened atmosphere – sun still hidden behind dark clouds and abundant plant life enshrouding the small alcove.

"Defend yourself, little girl! Show me just how tough you are." Jafar pressed harder and Jasmine's knuckles turned white, face pinching as she groaned. "When will you wake up, you stupid, little woman! No one is going to save you! No one is coming to rescue you – not this time. Not the next! You continue to risk your life to prove a point, but you are not capable of surviving on your own!" He bellowed, spittle dotting Jasmine's cheek. "And I'll be damned if I'm going to look the other way as you squander your safety because of your _feministic, childish, repulsive ideals_!"

Jasmine hiccoughed a cry, body jittering and eyes watering. Her neck corded, a blue vain predominate along her temple. Jafar inhaled sharply through his nose, then raised the staff over her head, bringing her wrists with it in one smooth motion as he pinned them there. His knee went between her thighs and his nose pressed against hers.

"How about _this_, Jasmine? Do you feel empowered now? Just as you did when you ran away from me? - sleeping in squalor for weeks on end with a street rat! Or when you prostituted yourself, ready to give your virtue to a disease-ridden scumbag?! Or was it most empowering when you risked your life to rescue a whore – who didn't give a shit about you – from a burning building!? How many times will you force this upon me – upon yourself! Your misery is your own doing, and I cannot keep worrying about protecting you when there are matters far more pressing for me to deal with!"

Her eyes went wide, body stilling and breath hitching in broken pants as she calmed a little.

_Protecting me? When has that ever been your concern._ "And who is going to protect me from _you_?" Her nostrils flared, mouth pulling upside down as their eyes fixed on one another.

A flicker of something flinched along the sinewy muscles of his face before he recovered into a heartless façade. Jafar's dark eyes bore into her. The heavy lines under his lids creasing and enhancing his age. Though it was silent, their words were loud and clear – the struggle for power, control, and victory evident by what wasn't said.

"You'll not blame me for your stupidity, Jasmine." He derided, trying to become indifferent and blank but to no avail. "I've bestowed every kindness I'm capable of these last weeks as you healed. And _just_ when I think you're past this childish bullshit –!"

Jasmine softened around the eyes, and had them fall away from his piercing stare. She watched his adam's apple bob as he swallowed and took notice to the rhythmic pulse in his neck.

What was she to say to him?

Why did he care if she did all those things? That she'd nearly died. What did he want from her? To fear him yet trust that he was looking out for her wellbeing? To hate him yet give her heart to him and thank him for not beating her for disobeying? Did he understand nothing?

_He's a lost soul Jasmine. He's so broken – probably always has been. Of course, he understands nothing._

How was that her fault?

_It could be your mother's fault._

Jasmine winced scrunching her face as she battled within. She'd forgotten about Ummah's story, or rather _chose_ to forget.

_If he doesn't know what love is how can he give it to you? Or compassion or forgiveness. But **you** have those things – you've been busy sharing it with others. Why not with him?_

Because he doesn't want it. Nor does he deserve it.

_Does anyone deserve forgiveness? . . . Look at him. There's goodness in him – you just have to draw it out. If not for him for yourself._

Jasmine shakily inhaled, making herself face her husband. Her arms were still pinned overhead with his, the blood slowly draining from them as they numbed. Jasmine shut out all sense of fear, and forced herself to see him through eyes of understanding and compassion. And as she did, Jafar looked different.

His eyes weren't just full of hatred – they were heavy-heartened, weighed down with hopeless emptiness and a deep seeded pain. A pain he might not even realize he had, but it was there all the same. Jafar was drained spiritually and emotionally and it wore like a fabricated net of misery on his face.

A beam of light shone through the leaves that enshrouded the alcove, and it hit just above his brow, picking out gold flakes in his otherwise black eyes, and highlighting the apples of his cheeks and the lining of his soft full mouth. He was so handsome, and only if he'd let the light shine into his heart, he'd be completely beautiful.

"What're you staring at?" He asked foully as if she were plotting his death by trying to figure him out. "This is not some game that will suck me in and make me have sympathy for you."

_Nope. Definitely wouldn't be easy to show him compassion._

"Sympathy?" Jasmine scoffed, jutting her jaw. "When have you ever had sympathy?"

She leaned off the wall all she could, her arms numbing as the blood drained from them and gathered with tension in her shoulders, and pressed her chest to his, sharing the same air as she challenged him.

"You're too selfish to have sympathy for anyone."

He was unreadable, unrelentingly stubborn and she held his stare with her own hard gaze. Jafar's eyes were dilated, breath hard and forced; Jasmine trying to remain strong and as cold as him.

_Give him a chance. Stay patient and kind and loving._

Before she'd a second thought Jasmine thrust her mouth onto his, pressing firm into his flattened mouth. Jafar was taken aback, frozen momentarily before opening to her kiss; their tongues sliding against each other.

Jafar tasted sweet like dates and tea and _him_; a soft mewl escaping her throat at the satisfaction she found from his response.

Jafar pushed her back to the wall, releasing her arms and taking her with both hands; fumbling with greedy haste as they grabbed one another. Jafar squeezing her ass and breasts; Jasmine scratching his back and biting his neck and digging her nails into the back of it, earning a throaty growl in response.

He fumbled for a moment to pull himself free, hiking her dress over her hips before roughly lifting her thigh over his waist; fingers digging deep into her flesh as he positioned his stiffened cock against her warm slit. Jasmine bit her lip, eyes fluttering as he slid the tip up and down the slick folds, smearing the moisture of her arousal for him. _Only_ for him.

He slipped inside her with little resistance, steeling himself to keep from spilling over at the feel of her silky flesh.

Jafar thrust hard and deep inside her, rhythmically moving with each other; Jasmine held onto his shoulders, their skin slick with perspiration. Foreheads pressed together and eyes wielded shut as they fucked carnally. Jasmine bit back a moan; angering Jafar by her silence. He huffed and growled like an animal, hungry for her screams, and slammed deeper inside, gripping harder on her hips as their bodies meted against each other. Their breathing rapid and panicked, leaving wet warmth against the others flesh. She bit on his ear, down his neck and deep into his shoulder, wetting his shirt with her saliva.

The pressure built in them both, his shaft slipping wildly in and out of her. His heartbeat pounding against hers as they held each other possessively.

"Come for me, Pussy cat . . . I can't hold out . . . You feel _so_ good sweetheart." He panted huskily, and his plea for release sent her over the edge.

Jasmine broke with a wail, tensing from her core down to her toes. The velvety muscles of her sex pulling the seed from him as he followed her. Their juices mingled, swirling low and hot below her belly; enhancing the sensation and forcing her to scream his name. Over and over loudly without remorse for those that might overhear. She sputtered nonsense arching her back off the wall and closing around him as he drained the last of himself deep inside her.

Jafar forced the back of her head down on his shoulder, silencing her cries as he kept her pinned to the wall; and thrust twice more with shuddering groans.

Jasmine moaned breathlessly. Pulse slowing as she came down from her high. Jafar pulled out slowly, sticky fluids clinging to his shaft and dripping down her inner thighs. He adjusted himself, and straightened. Leaning with hands by her face against the wall.

Jasmine took his jaw with a gentle hand, running the pad of her thumb over this hallow, strong cheeks; the other fingering his lips down over his chin.

"You're going to be the death of me." He said thick with aggravation.

"If only." Both their lips ticked in faint amusement before she added, "I will stay closer to you while we're in Safed." The queen smiled sweetly, the glow of her orgasm turning her cheeks pink.

Jafar narrowed his eyes with a tick of a smile; and bending his neck, kissed her with bruising carelessness. They broke apart breathlessly, leaving Jasmine slightly dizzied, as he took up the staff again recovering with a formal stiffness.

"Now . . . We'll finish this discussion later. I've business to attend to." He held out his arm for her to take.

Before she acquiesced, however, Jasmine took the sides of his face and planted a soft gentle peck to his cheeks. Then across the strong line of his jaw, the thick hair of his beard tickling her skin. Jafar was stiff, unblinking as he waited for her to finish; but he'd not pushed her away.

She smiled kindly at him then took the crook of his arm. It wasn't easy to do this with him – to go from one extreme to the next while keeping her own anger in check. There was still so much that needed addressed. So much left unsaid and unfinished between them.

But if she could show love to him, at least in mediocre ways by holding her tongue and remaining as loyal as possible, then perhaps she could save him; could start to forgive him when he didn't deserve it, and care for him even when it was painful to be selfless.

* * *

"What the fucking hell was that about!?" Aladdin practically fell off the roof where they were hiding. He couldn't see, but there wasn't much to leave to the imagination. "You were supposed to get her away from Jafar! **_Away_**! Not thrust her mouth on his cock!"

A haggardly woman, in plain dull rags, limping with a crooked cane, sighed with contempt. Mortal youths were so impatient. A trait she'd usually appreciated, but now had grown tired of.

"Temper, temper my pet." She crooned then shapeshifted into a stunning mature woman. Her rags now purple and gold and her distorted features free of wrinkle or blemish. "She didn't suck his cock –." she assured, then muttered, "_this_ time anyway."

Aladdin caught the latter and shoved her hand from his shoulder. Face flushed with anger. "You told me to wait, Lilura! You said you'd get her out of his reach and back into my arms if I helped you!" Aladdin paced, rubbing his knuckles along the stubble of his chin. "What's Roel going to say when he finds out we knew Jafar was looking for the thieves and didn't say anything. Huh? What then? They're already suspicious to why I keep going out and never come back with anything. They'll think I betrayed them."

Lilura's green eyes remained forward in the distance. All of Aladdin's griping falling onto deaf ears. He paused, following her gaze to where they last saw jasmine and the snake go.

"Why haven't they come out yet!" he demanded. "You said Jasmine was like her mother. You said it'd be easy to lure her away!"

"I was wrong." She shrugged uncaring. "They may look similar but there's something special about her. Something her mother didn't have. Just as I figured she would be. She's different."

Aladdin threw up his hands. "Well that's fucking great, but it doesn't help us any!"

"Calm down you blabbering ape and gain some perspective." She warned dryly. "It won't be easy to draw her out, especially with others watching over her, but not impossible. I've blocked Jafar's powers once I can do it again."

"For how long? He's getting closer to finding us. You can't hold him off forever and when that happens, he'll kill anyone standing in his way. And who do you think he'll kill first on the battlefield. _Me_! I can't handle this." He pulled at his hair with two fists, drawing the skin tight on his forehead. "I should've taken Jasmine when I had the chance in Agrabah. Jafar was gone. The city was burning. No one would've seen."

"And you'd have risked everything in the process!" her patience wore thin. Hand itching to flick and break the boy's neck. There was more to this than his fowl, weak mind, could comprehend – his colorless love story the least of their concerns.

Jasmine could be seen emerging in the distance from the brush, Jafar following behind with iconic staff in tow. Aladdin narrowed his eyes, blinking rapidly and practically having a heart attack as he seen Jasmine smile and link her arm through Jafar's.

"That does it!" Aladdin readied himself to jump down onto the canopy below. "I'm going to get her. Hold him off and we'll run."

Lilura danced a finger aerially and it dragged Aladdin out of mid-air, reversing his fall, sending him to land face first on the unforgiving stone roof.

"You're an idiot." She hissed. "I see why Jasmine chose the tall one." And with a wave of her hand they vanished.


	23. Chapter 23: Uncovered

Cyrus and Jafar had broken off some time ago from the group, heading back to the house while Jasmine, Tzipporah and the kids ate at the lunch hall. Jasmine was introduced to several new families, and even made a couple of new acquaintances to talk with – so she didn't mind Jafar's absence very much. Tzipporah took Jasmine through the shops afterwards, and bought all of them a small treat from one of the merchants – a type of Israeli candy. It melted in her mouth exploding with flavor and she groaned with a blissful expression – to which the children all laughed and pointed.

"You're silly!" Opal giggled loudest and Jasmine took another bite and pulled an even more dramatic face making Josiah spit out some of his food with laughter.

Their innocent happiness filled her heart with joy, and Jasmine beamed with better spirits the rest of the day.

By the time they'd returned to the house, Jafar and Cyrus were already gone. Now, halfway through prepping dinner, they'd still not returned, and Jasmine grew a little anxious. (Hopefully her husband wasn't causing turmoil to a sweet man like Cyrus.) She'd still the faintest idea of why they'd come to Safed, and honestly, Jasmine didn't really want to know the details. It would only upset her.

"Jasmine, be a dear and chop these vegetables for the matbucha." Tzipporah asked kindly, handing over onions, garlic, tomatoes and peppers."

Jasmine took the knife and got to work, feeling a sense of pride in herself for remembering what she learned in the brothel kitchen. Tzipporah bustled around the kitchen preparing the rest of the entrees and another cold salad for the table. This was the first time they were alone together – Hadassah watching the children and reading to them in the other room - And Jasmine took the chance to try and better know the older woman.

"All of this looks so amazing," jasmine began conversationally. "I don't think I could ever make things like this on my own."

"Why would you dear? You've a palace full of servants for that, don't you?" Tzipporah asked and it came off a bit curt.

"Yes – I guess so. But . . ." Jasmine didn't continue, feeling a little uncomfortable. She wasn't complaining about her status, she knew more than ever before that she was blessed. But there remained the part of her that liked doing things for herself – the part she'd only discovered recently.

"I guess it just feels nice knowing how to do things myself, is all. You've made such a lovely home," Jasmine gestured to the atmosphere, "The palace always feels so empty. I would like to add my own touch to things. Be able to make it feel homely. Like you do." Jasmine smiled at the Israeli woman, slicing away at a tomato.

Tzipporah softened. "Of course, dear. I understand that. If i couldn't be the homemaker of my own home I'd act out in an ungodly manner, I'm afraid." It made Jasmine giggle a little and Tzipporah grinned. "I believe that's how the Lord made us women - especially since you're a mother, those instincts are naturally stronger."

The knife slipped, cutting Jasmine's finger at the tip. Blood seeping through the slit flesh. Jasmine sucked on her small wound and Tzipporah hurried for a cloth to wrap around it.

"A _mother_?" Jasmine laughed dryly, taken aback, "I'm – I'm not a mother, Tzipporah."

"But you're with child, yes?"

Jasmine dropped her face becoming wide-eyed, "I am?!"Her hands flung to her flat belly as she looked down on it with fear.

"Oh honey, ignore me. I only assumed you and the Sultan were trying to have an heir." Tzipporah blushed with embarrassment. Sometimes she didn't know when to mind her own. "Please forgive my prying – anyhow, let's move on to the jachnun. The dough is already prepared, now all we have to do it roll it paper thin. Come I'll show you."

The older woman hurried quickly to the table top, setting out two balls of dough and wiping wiry hands on the front of her apron. Jasmine moved with ghostlike steps, after making sure the bleeding had stopped, Jasmine set aside the cloth and started to roll out the dough.

With child? Why would anyone assume such a thing as that? Did she look pregnant? She certainly didn't feel it – then again who would she know? Would there be signs, would Jafar know. Did Jafar think it too?! Maybe that was why he'd been gone all day. If she were pregnant . . . Allah she couldn't bear to bring a child into this world, not when it was so unfair and cruel. Not when the father would be – she couldn't imagine Jafar with a baby. An infant would be so vulnerable and helpless; would Jafar hurt it? Use it against her when he became angry? The thought was sickening.

"Darling, you're not rolling. I know the boys have been gone most the day, but one thing Cyrus arrives on time for is supper." Thin fly away tendrils around her temples stuck up in every direction, turning silver in the light. Tzipporah thinned out her dough rather quickly, and Jasmine forced herself to do the same; finding her hands had turned numb and stiff in her worrying.

"Tzipporah, may I ask a question?"

The wiry woman began to roll her sheet into a log; hands lined with hard work, strong and sturdy, yet they handled the paper-thin dough with such graceful care. The hands of a mother – Jasmine wondered what her own mother's hands looked like. If she herself would be able to have the capable hands of a loving mother.

"Of course, dear, anything."

_Glad, you said that._

"Do you ever regret your life? I mean – the way your life ended up. The paths you chose." Jasmine looked down quietly. "The paths that chose you. Would you change it if you could?"

Tzipporah stopped rolling long enough to look Jasmine square in the face. With all certainty she boldly stated, "Never. I wouldn't change one thing," then started working again.

Jasmine sighed, "Oh." _So, it's just me then which must mean I'm the weakest person alive. _"Even the bad things?"

Tzipporah finished her log of dough, and dusted off her hands, putting one on her hip and the other on the table as she leaned her hip into it. "Your highness, may I speak frankly with you. Woman to woman"

Jasmine straightened at attention. "Yes, please."

"Fine then, but I'll only say this once. Honey, that man you're married to is a dark soul – I felt it the moment he stepped into my house and every moment since. We're it not for Cyrus I would've kicked that man out before he'd the chance to set inside." Her eyes softened, and she took a thoughtful breath. "_But_ . . . that doesn't mean the Lord doesn't have a plan for your marriage; that He can't use what was painful and change it into something beautiful. Do you love your husband?"

"_No_." Oh. She hadn't expected it to be that answer – at least not so fast. "I mean . . . I don't hate him or anything. At least I don't think I do anymore. I don't know – I haven't had time to really process everything. There's been so much chaos around every turn. Everything is so – complicated and confusing."

"Matters of the heart often are, my dear." Tzipporah took Jasmine's hands in her own and rubbed the backs of them.

For some reason the strength in Tzipporah made Jasmine feel weaker than ever, and she suddenly felt like crying; clinging to Tzipporah's strong voice as she continued.

"You don't have to have it all figured out yet, that's the beauty of marriage – you have a lifetime with one another. You will go through trials, some bigger than you've ever experienced before. But that's doesn't mean there won't be moments that steal your breath away. Whatever trials you undergo will make you both stronger, wiser, more patient. Love isn't always fireworks – sometimes it comes softly over time. Don't be afraid, sweet girl. Everything will be as it should. Have faith."

Jasmine's eyes watered as she beheld the strength found in Tzipporah's empathetic ones. More than anything Jasmine wanted faith, envied Tzipporah's undying belief and motherly nature. (It was comforting, yet a painful reminder that she had neither.)

Tzipporah held the side of Jasmine's face and she leaned into her hand, touching it with her own and closing her eyes so the tears that welled up fell gently down. Jasmine had wanted to love Jafar – but the reality of it was she still didn't know what love was. Not entirely anyway. What Cyrus and Tzipporah had Jasmine never experienced with another human being. But _this_ felt good for her soul – and a pang went through her as she thought of her father and wished he was there.

"Now – let's stop this crying, yes?" Tzipporah took the backside of her apron and used it to dab at Jasmine's cheeks, Jasmine smiling through reddened eyes and mottled skin. "I'll finish the bread if you would like to start on the dessert."

Jasmine hurried to follow Tzipporah's directions, not wanting to take up any more time with her own nonsense; though she chewed on Tzipporah's words as she worked. Tzipporah came over when able and helped Jasmine create a dish called kanafeh – a goat cheese pastry soaked in sweet sugar-based syrup. Tzipporah walked Jasmine through the steps, and let her be more hands on. Jasmine heated the pastry in butter, then added goat cheese and on top of it more pastry. Towards the end drops of orange blossom were added to it, and Jasmine eyed her creation proudly. All sense of self-pity and sadness gone.

Dinner was finally ready and, as if on cue, Cyrus burst through the door. "Beloveds, I'm home! And I bring gifts!" He shouted from the front entrance and all the children could be heard stampeding through the house with shrill cries of excitement.

Tzipporah leaned into Jasmine with a cocked brow. "See, what'd I tell you. Every time."

Jasmine snickered and went to set the table, eyeing Cyrus for a moment as he rolled on the ground with the children, trying to hide their little toys from them in a teasing manner. She finished setting the table, when Jafar caught her eye – standing ominously by the blue front door.

"Oh, I didn't see you there." Jasmine wiped a bead from her brow and came over, trying to smile as pleasantly as possible. "Everything alright?"

"I need to speak with you for a moment – outside if you don't mind."

A frown flickered her brow at how impassively dark he was, but she acquiesced without quarrel and strode past the threshold and out into the courtyard. It was freezing cold, bitter chill nipping through her thin dress and seeping through the soles of her shoes. She held herself with a light tremble and walked alongside Jafar to the far wall of the limestone yard.

* * *

A pitch-black curtain draped over the sky and twisted the stars into warped dim smears; murky clouds further reducing what light they offered. Another breeze blew in over the courtyard wall, washing over Jasmine with frigid strength - she'd wondered why it was pertinent to do this outside, and so far from the house.

The moonlight was a pale-yellow casting troubling shadows over Jafar's calculated cold stare. Hands behind his back the crisp black of his thobe hugged like armor customized to fit him perfectly.

Jasmine attempted a smile to ease the growing hostility. "Is something wrong?"

"That, I believe, will depend entirely upon perspective. Though I assume it'll be quite clear soon enough." His voice was drawn, set in distinct firmness. "I will offer you only_ one_ chance. Is there _anything_ you want to tell me?"

Suddenly she'd felt they were too close, that the wall's around them were closing in and the cold chills she'd had, moments before, now turned into shivering beads of sweat down her back.

Jasmine shook her head slowly, scrunching the sides of her violet gown between clammy fingers – she hated lying but that's all she seemed to keep doing.

"I see," his heavy eyes flickered and Jasmine's stomach dropped.

"Then would you mind telling me where you got _this_?" Jafar presented his left fist, opening a mighty palm for her assessment; a gold chain tumbling forward as it dangled around his middle finger.

_Mother's necklace _– the chain, with a serpent charm – Ummah had given it to her right before the building collapsed. Jasmine had forgotten she'd hidden it in her luggage – _along with . . ._

Jasmine licked parched lips though found her tongue had run just as dry.

"It's my moth–,"

"I know _who's_ it is." He curtly interjected, "_how_ did you get it?" Each word was chipped at the end and Jasmine recoiled.

There was little sense to try and lie anymore – whatever came out next she wouldn't be able to stop. The secrecy had lasted long enough.

"…Umm –"

_"Ummah?" _Jafar finished darkly. Jasmine tried to step away from him but it was as if her legs had grown roots beneath glacial stones

"May I have it back?" She susurrated then tried again, sounding just as small as before. ". . . It belongs to me."

Humorlessly Jafar chuckled. "Does it now? And I suppose _this_ belongs to you, as well?"

Jasmine closed her eyes as if slapped across the face; Jafar pulling the small leather book from behind his back.

"You went through my things?" She kvetched as if he'd betrayed her.

"You went through _mine_." Jafar gnashed through clenched teeth.

Frightened eyes met his portentous ones. What was there to say? She'd needed answers. That was all. It was a far less crime than the ones he'd committed to her on a daily basis.

Her only misconduct, she felt, was stupidity for believing it possible to hide anything from her choleric husband.

Calmly he tucked the small book into the lining of his black thobe, snug against his broad chest, then clasped hands steadily together. "Walk to the stable."

"What?" She gave an ethereal gasp.

"Do it. _Now_."

Shoulders curled forward, chest caving as she shuffled her feet forward and hugged her chest. The path elongated, time slowing as she counted every slab of stone beneath her feet. Brief glances were cast to the right and left, though left little hope – even if she managed to get away it wouldn't be very far. Gloom weighed on her chest with auspicious peril as if marching towards her funeral.

The stable doors landed at her feet, grey unwieldy doors adorned with tired rusted hinges that creaked as Jafar lugged one open; the stench of horse feces and puff of last summer's straw saturating her nostrils. The stuffy musk of animal fur and dried dropping of rats came next and Jasmine stifled a whimper.

"Go on." He droned richly when Jasmine cast him a wavering look.

Frail streaks of moonlight shone through the tiny window over the stable doors, turning the of dusty frames of wooden stalls and poles into nothing more than blurred shadows. The door creaked shut with a cantankerous slam and Jasmine jumped, nerves on edge; eyes hard pressed against profound darkness.

She could see nothing but the plume of her own breath.

Old straw crunched beneath her feet as she ambled uneasily, a scampering of little paws made way behind her, brushing the heel of her feet and she let out a muffled scream. Jafar moved like a ghost among the small stable; his voice low yet thunderous compared to the still of night.

"Put your hands on the wall," he ordered and Jasmine turned to the direction he'd come.

Blindly sliding one foot in front of the other, she acquiesced, arms stretched out until they pressed against stone. Breaths came in shallow pants. Ears turning out and replacing her sight – horses snarled plumes of breath, their hooves stepping in place upon the gritted ground of dried hay. A braided leather horse whip could eerily be heard running through a hook. Jafar pulling it tight so it snapped with a crack, making Jasmine flinch.

Jasmine closed her eyes, though it was just as black as when they were open. He was going to kill her. Strangle her as he did once before. This was it. This was how she'd die – cold, broken, decaying next to a pile of dried dung. And for reasons irrational Jasmine thought of the children she'd never have, the mother she would never get to be. There would be no more firsts for her, no new experiences, or love or memories. It would end here. After _everything_ it all would end violent and alone.

As she waited for the cord to wrap around her neck Jafar gathered the back of her violet, satin gown and rolled it up and over instead. Draping the fabric over her lower back so she was completely exposed to him; and all the more vulnerable.

With insouciance, Jafar warned, "I'm going to finish teaching you that lesson. If you scream, or try to run, I'll strike you twice as hard. Do you understand?"

_Allah please – have I not suffered enough with this man?_

Broken snivels rose above the other sounds, body shivering with each tremulous pattern of breaths. "I," Jasmine choked swallowing a metallic lump, "I underst-ah!"

The first lashing was struck across her backside with a whistling bow of air, body nearly caving in from the force. It stung numbingly at first, then tingled like a thousand pin pricks over her right side – a wave of nausea threatening to send her to her knees.

Then again on the left, a sweltering whack.

"_Ah_-," Jasmine groaned, quick to bite her tongue and not scream. Fluid dropped steadily from her nose, the tip of it cold. Her fingers and toes stiff, and the frosted air nipping at the agony of blistering flesh. She began to wobble at the knees before throwing them into stiff submission – Jafar would only make it worse if she showed weakness.

He wanted to hurt her, enjoyed how he could cause her pain. She knew that. It was no keep secret that Jafar had been waiting to do this; by now he'd won. She'd be damned to let him see her crumble on top of it.

Without a single word or trace of exhilaration, Jafar struck again with inhuman callousness – cocking his arm and releasing the trigger with devastating strength, all while remaining composed.

Jasmine didn't feel that one as badly. The old sting wearing into the new; for the moment, she'd shut everything out. Becoming desensitized to the world around her. The cracking of the whip, the horses huffing, her skin burning. It all fell on deaf ears. Her body jolted forward after another strike, then again, and again. Until finally, Jafar stopped.

The leather was put away on the nearby hook and Jafar came calmly from behind. _Carefully_ he pulled her dress back over her rear and she flinched as satin scraped against raw skin. Head low, hands on the wall, eyes wielded shut, Jasmine remained impervious.

When he spoke, it was as if nothing happened. Jafar ever nonchalant, poised, and controlled. To Jasmine, however, his voice sounded like teeth scratching against metal and set her nerves on edge.

"You can cry if you want when I'm gone. Then pick yourself up, accept what's been done, and be thankful it wasn't worse." He paused – waiting for what she didn't know. And Jasmine kept hidden by her outstretched arm.

His mouth open and closed; Jafar running the tip of his tongue over the inside of his cheek where he'd been biting it as he struck her. Metallic clinging bitterly to his palate from the wound he created inside his mouth. While falling short on words, Jafar quietly back away and left his wife in the dark.

The door creaked open, a draft scuffled loose dirt and straw and moonlight touched the base of the entrance giving Jasmine back a tinge of light. The sounds of horses' breath, the smell of manure and hay, the slow hopeless pulse of her heart, wearily came into focus. It was too much for her still, and she tried to barricade her soul from feeling; but it was futile.

Jasmine collapsed to her knees.

Pressing her head against the frigid wall and dropping her hands into her lap, Jasmine hiccoughed a gasp; choking on rasping tears as if she'd been thrown into a frozen river and her body had gone into shock.

Twice now she had hoped Jafar could love her. Twice she'd started to try and be okay with her situation and both times he'd proven her otherwise. She'd mistaken his self-restraint as progress - lust for affection. Nothing had changed. How could it in such a short time? Was she so fatuous to believe pitiful kisses on his face could penetrate the withered thing he called a soul?

And the truth of it all stung worse than the sores of her rear – this was her life now; and would be forevermore.

She hadn't cried since their wedding night and it was long overdue. Jasmine sobbed with painful lugs of breath then screeched bitterly behind her teeth. Shaking fists pressed at her head as she held her breath. The veins in her neck and forehead popped, entire body straining in unnatural solidity. Her face reddened as Jasmine trembled with unmatched rage. Until finally, her mind faded into white noise and all functions shut down. She could no longer think. Thinking made it worse. And in the solitude of the stable Jasmine fell on her face and slipped into the recesses of the darkness.

* * *

"Jafar, there you are." Cyrus hesitated in his gait. "I hope I'm not interrupting?"

"Not at all – I expect we didn't disturb your family?" Jafar tightly smiled as Cyrus came to a stop before him. Clearly, he'd wanted to talk but they'd done enough of it already and Jafar was drained.

"No, no. I'm not here to question how you run your household."

Jafar scoffed inwardly. Sure, he didn't. The pest had done nothing else the last several hours.

"I'm glad you came to me with information. On top of what I found in her luggage, I now know _just_ how little I can trust my wife." He said clearly vexed.

Cyrus twitched, tugging at his thick peppered beard. "The witch who tried to lure Jasmine away was not Jasmine's fault though."

"A thin line of blame, i'm afraid. Jasmine deserved her punishment." Jafar huffed hating explaining himself.

"And what then will you do about the enchantress? Surely the power I felt is cause for concern for Jasmine's safety. And yours."

Jafar sighed, casually heading towards the yellow glow emanating from the house. "I hardly feel the need for concern. Palm readers and tricksters are the least of my worries."

Cyrus grumbled under his breath hands behind his back thoughtfully and soft brown eyes giving hinting glances that Jafar's confidence may be overestimated

"Fine," Jafar rolled his eyes, "I'll be on higher alert. Now, about your son."

"I told you the signal is set."

"And you're confident he'll respond?"

Cyrus huffed, taking a moment before broaching the topic again. "Give it a few days. He'll turn up at that location."

Cyrus stopped just before the front steps, chewing the inside of his cheek as he smoothly turned the topic back to Jafar. "…Remember the caves we found when we were boys – have you ever taken anyone there."

Jafar rose an uninterested brow. "Have you?"

"No. Not even Tzipporah knows about them – but sometimes I still visit when I can't get away enough to clear my head. Special place up there – magical even . . . Believed by some to have healing properties."

Jafar eyed him suspiciously. "Only you and I know about the caves."

Cyrus scratched his ear with a childlike gesticulation. "I'm just saying _some_ believe there's healing up in those mountains: the details of _who_ matters not."

Jafar crossed powerful arms over his chest. "_Healing_? And what, pray tell, are you suggesting I need healing of."

"Well . . .," Cyrus blubbered a grumble trying to pull off indifference and failing. ". . . For health. Er, tummy problems, headaches. Matters of the heart and marriage." The latter spoken hastily.

Jafar's eye ticked, he shook his head tensely, "Cyrus –."

Cyrus rocked back on his heels, tiger like paws shoved in the wrap around his growing belly. "Come now Jafar; don't look so glum. I know I know," he waved rocking his head side to side, "I'll not meddle anymore. But you _should_ take your wife up there, Er, for a day or two." He suggested. "Malachi won't respond for a bit and besides, with everything going on I-umm . . . Well I've decided to come clean to Tzipporah about everything. And . . . Well, it may be best if we were alone for –."

Jafar silenced Cyrus with an easy nod. "We'll be gone tomorrow. Two days only though. Allah only knows what I'll be tempted to do to the shrew if we're alone too long. I may very well return without her."

"Ha! Don't underestimate her, Jafar. I wouldn't be surprised if it was _her_ who came back alone." Cyrus bolstered and swatted Jafar on the back.

"Râcham! Lord, have mercy! Have you boys nothing better to do than make my hungry children wait to eat their supper?" Tzipporah hollered front he doorway looking fiercer than ever. "Get in here this instant and eat, or no desert!"

Cyrus' mouth fell open like a maw, Tzipporah huffing with a spin and Jafar swatted Cyrus roughly on the shoulder.

"Apparently, I'm not the only one who shouldn't underestimate his wife," he chuckled and Cyrus gave an agreeing, yet worried, exhale and hurried inside to change his wife's mind.

Jafar paused and looked towards the stables in the distance, waiting to see if Jasmine would come out.

But she didn't.

His face drew down, hesitation keeping him rooted as he battled within. He knew she would be okay – the skin hadn't even broken, although, one more strike and it would've.

Possibly she hurt elsewhere; someplace deeper within that the physical pain couldn't reach. He saw her legs tremble, knew she'd been holding her breath the entire time. She was crying now, he knew.

His knuckles ran angrily over his jawline rubbing against the grain. He hated second guessing himself. Hated that she made him have even a _trace_ of guilt.

_Serves her right – what else were you supposed to do?_

Jafar shook his head looking heavenwards. A tightness pulled at his chest like stretched rubber, an uneasiness growing in the steel of his heart. He waited a minute longer for her to appear, relentlessly eyeing the ajar door. Then, when she remained in the shadows of the stable, he set aside the thought of checking on her and went inside.

* * *

Everything was green with moss while murky with a deathlike aura. Massive boulders that made up a tetrahedral hill towered Jasmine. Black sharp trees, shaped like pitchforks, were covered in swaths of mold. The air was humid, foggy, dank and Jasmine coughed to rid the heaviness in her chest, slowly rising from the soft bedded earth where she'd lain.

She'd been here before.

There came a discord of disembodied screams – the forest enshrouding the whereabouts with thick fog and devilish trees. Chanting, signing, and shrill cries of agony rose in numbers; roaring louder, closer, drawing in around her in a circle. She could see no faces, only shadows in the distance. Was it children crying? Someone singing her name in demonic melodies. Jasmine covered her ears – the world spinning on its axis around her, swirling into dizzying blurred shapes. The screams came louder, the incantations faster.

"Stop it." Jasmine hunched over, wielding eyes tightly, 'Stop it!" Jasmine fell to her knees and screamed the command once more – then, emptiness.

A presence stood before her. Jasmine slowly raised large brown eyes.

The woman was old at first and haggard with warts and a crooked cane that matched her crooked walk. Then, by some trick of the mind, she was beautiful and young. Speaking in honeyed lyrics.

"You just can't stay away, can you?" She smiled, tipping Jasmine's chin up with a sharp finger, Jasmine recoiled defiantly, ripping her face from the witch's claws. "Soon enough my pet – now. Where were we? Oh, yes." She sneered in a sinister, playful way. "You needed to wake up." Unexpectedly a double-edged sword, with an opened mouth dragon on the end, devouring the base of the blade, was thrust forward and plummeted into Jasmine's gut; knocking the breath from her with a devastating blow.

Jasmine woke with a start gasping in laborious, frantic pants. It'd been so real, the lingering stench of the moldy forest clinging inside her nose, until the dream turned back into a dream – a mottled haze of events, until finally, nothing at all; Jasmine unable to recall the nightmare and labeling it as nothing more than that.

The room was dark. Empty. Unfamiliar at first. A scuffling on the ground made her heart jump again. In the shadows, a small brown mouse could be made out, burrowing beneath the warm hay. She was still in the stables.

Wincing, Jasmine stood, dusting off her thighs and pulling straw from her hair. Her buttocks were sore, the skin swollen and tender to the faintest brush of her swaying dress as she walked delicately. Unyielding arms wrapped around her midsection. She was half frozen it felt and the stiffness from sleeping on the ground had settled in her lower back and crept over her small shoulders.

Jasmine blinked adjusting to the moonlight as she stepped outside – the moon was seemingly unmoved from last she saw it and Jasmine supposed little time had passed; although it seemed she'd slept a lifetime.

_Ha – If I could be so lucky_.

A light was still on in the house, seeping through the small windows and the tiny holes of the wooden door, but no noise could be heard from within. Jasmine pressed the shell of her ear to the blue frame, hoping, praying, to hear Cyrus and the children's laughter, or Tzipporah singing or scolding someone for not having table manners. Any inkling of human activity that could ground Jasmine to the belief that she was not alone.

The calm, however, remained disquieting; and hope, ever elusive.

Jasmine took another moment to reassess her aspect of the situation. Tomorrow she'd get to see them. For now, it was probably best to be alone. After all, if everyone was in bed she could sneak in without drawing attention. No one would ask questions, and she wouldn't have to hold back tears and wear a brave face while pretending everything was alright. (For in that moment it could only end in a dramatic display of emotions and sniveling sobs.)

Gathering her straggled hair Jasmine pulled it in one lump to the side and draped the tangled strands over the front of her shoulder. Some of its mass fell forward around her face and she shoved them behind both ears and rubbed her face, trying to rid any tear streaks or dirt. Then, closing her eyes with a calming breath, Jasmine headed inside the home.

As suspected there were only two lanterns lit. One in the hallway upstairs visible from below the railing, and another along the hall that led towards the pitch-black kitchen. It sent a chill over Jasmine and she hopped on the bottom step of the stairs, when a match was struck from behind; a third lantern casting incandescent light.

_So close._

Jasmine sluggishly turned to face the living room. Jafar sat, ankle over his knee and hands over the arms of the sofa, next to a small table with a lantern flickering gold hues over his face. His expression was devoid of emotion, body language unwelcoming and aggressive simply by sitting.

"You missed dinner." He said plainly. "I assume you're hungry."

Jasmine looked behind her, palming her chest mockingly as she scoffed. "Are you talking to me?" She laughed humorlessly, "Because I think you have me confused with someone you _didn't_ just beat and leave in rat infested hay."

The dark lines of his eyes narrowed together. "I'll take that as a yes."

"Fuck you!"

"Lower. Your. Voice." He growled in smooth truncated tones.

Jasmine fisted her hips spinning away as she paced shaking her head. How could she ever believe there was a chance for redemption in this man. He was insufferable, callous and selfish – case closed.

"At least take some responsibility, for your actions, Jasmine. You're old enough by now." Jafar perceived as if reading her mind. "Sit down – if you can that is." He smirked.

Jasmine's jaw jutted, her eyes, appearing dark and deep set from crying, defied him. Jasmine proudly came to a hard-wooden chair and plopped down in it, stifling a groan as her body screamed inwardly.

Jafar waited momentarily with an amused raise of the brows, and tented his hands, waiting for the pain to become too much for her. Sure enough, discomfort won out over dignity and Jasmine winced, repeating 'ow-ow' as she carefully stood back up again.

"You're a bastard." She muttered scornfully and Jafar gave a deliberate small smile.

"So, I've been told – I supposed we can discuss your actions even as you stand. Hmm? Would you mind now telling me something truthful for once," He sat back with radiating confidence, lacing broad knuckled fingers together in his lap. "What were you doing sneaking around in my tower?"

She didn't want to do this. Not now. If she had to bring up her mother, was forced into repeating the horrible things she'd heard, Jasmine would become literally sick on the floor.

She swallowed hard, chest fluttering with anxiety and making her stomach ache.

"I know about you and my mother. That you were lovers for a long time." The words tumbled out and, if it weren't for Jafar's dropping expression, she'd have thought they weren't spoken at all.

Albeit, honesty never felt so alleviating. Like sucking poison from a snake bite, the truth oozed from her mouth.

"I know you and my mother branded whores, abused them for pleasure and . . ." She scoffed bitterly, unable to finish the sentence.

Jafar puffed out his chest as if in defense and tolerantly waited for her to finish.

A chill went over her and she shuddered, taking a moment to steady quavering nerves.

"I also know about you and Henrietta being engaged . . . _Yeah_," She huffed with a broken smile when Jafar's irritation steadily grew. "I was shocked too. And, uh, my mother came up in that story as well." Jasmine shifted uneasily.

The back of her eyes pricked. She pulled at her lips wetting them over as her mouth ran dry and nose started to run with emotion.

"I guess – I just wanted to know the truth. And obviously, I couldn't ask you."

"So instead, you break in and steal from me." He hissed in annoyance.

Jasmine shook her head, tucking hair behind her ears when it fell forward, and ignoring him. She made circles on the floor with her toe and sniffed. "I don't remember her at all. And it's like there's this _thing_ I'm missing out on, like half of my heart is . . . _lost_."

Jasmine hadn't hardly ever talked about her mother; it wasn't ever important enough in the past. She'd always assumed her mother was good, kind, passive. The way Baba was. And he had hardly spoken of her either. It wasn't until now, being in Safed, with Tzipporah and the seeing the unity of a loving family that made Jasmine feel left out. Like she'd missed something and still was. Jasmine's heart lurched, large single tears casting from distraught watery eyes.

"Was she really as awful as people are saying? . . . was she dark like you?" She forced herself to meet him, mouth twisting down and trembling as she choked on the words. "Will I be dark like her . . .?"

Jafar looked away masked as always. "I've nothing to say Jasmine."

Her face scrunched petulantly_. So now he felt was an opportune time to keep opinions to himself?_ "Do you – do you see her when you look at me?" Her pulsed quickened and she splayed a hand over her chest. "When you're inside of me, fucking _her_ daughter, are you imagining –."

"Hold your foul tongue, little girl!" He snapped, digging nails into the arm rest and breath hardening in his chest. The low light highlighted sinewy muscles beneath his silk shirt; shadows undulating as his chest rose and fell. "None of my past is _any_ of your concern, so keep your damn mouth shut."

How was she supposed to accept that!? It may be his past but it was every bit her concern.

The images plagued Jasmine next. (As they had when she'd first heard the truth.) Then, however, it was merely hearsay. Now – _now_ it was real and Jasmine began to exhale in heaving distraught breath as she envisioned her mother and Jafar naked and writhing together in bed – a bed, perhaps, that Jasmine herself had now shared with him.

Jasmine's fists gathered at the temples of her head. "This is so wrong. It's so wrong!" Her heart hurt, racing so quickly she felt it'd explode. "You fucked my mother. Betrayed my father. Your _Sultan_!" Then, a further demented suspicion excreted upon her mind.

Jafar pulled a face as Jasmine visibly sickened. He sat up a little more, coming to the edge of his seat in preparation. Her stare turned deathly cold, cinnamon skin taking on a sickly complexion; suddenly he knew what she must be thinking. A knot tightened below Jafar's heart.

"Wait a minute . . . Are _you_ the one who –." Her eyes trailed over him head to foot with utmost disgust. "Am I your?"

"For fuck's sake, Jasmin, how revolting do you think I am!" He shouted jumping to his feet and shaking with rage. "You honestly believe that if you were my flesh and blood I would do the things I've done to you!? Do you see me as some demented, warped, fucking –." He shut his mouth turning away and fisting his hips; he felt he might kill her he was so angry.

Jasmine shook her head distraught, closing her eyes and pressing her hand to her mouth. She stood in the doorway of the living room and hugged herself tightly, willing her mind to stop overthinking and just shut down. What did it matter the life he had before her? What mattered now was how cruel and heartless he was to her. Nothing else should be important.

Neither of them talked for a long while. Jasmine was so worn emotionally, mentally. She'd been drained repeatedly for the last few months with little to replenish her soul. Jasmine quivered, shoulders shaking as she began to silently cry against the white stone frame; nose pressing into it as she hugged the wall for comfort.

The floor creaked under his weight, Jafar stepping slowly towards her. She was so beautiful it was painful to look at her sometimes. There was a dip in er dress, that cut low past her shoulder blade, revealing creamy cinnamon skin and taut muscles. Even with the small scars there, nothing could tarnish her perfection. She hunched a little, holding her small waist and leaned her head against the wall. He needed her, more than ever. She was angry with him, but that was normal. He liked her anger, fed off of her fiery spirit. His mouth ran dry, tip of his tongue darting out to wet his lips as her sweet scent encompassed him. The tips of his fingers tingled, desiring the touch of her skin - warm and heavenly compared to his cold and deadly heart.

Jasmine hated him, though it mattered little to him. Even now he knew she was his. That she belonged to him and would give him herself if only for the sake of fulfilling the lust they both shared; and despite himself, Jafar needed that more than anything at that moment. To feel her sink into him and come undone with his touch, to assure him he hadn't lost her. He would someday - a thought constantly at the back of his mind - but he refused to let it happen yet. He needed more time with her.

"Jasmine?" Jafar asked hoarsely. Stepping slowly around to her front when she didn't move. Her face was screwed shut and pale with mottled spots of pink from crying. He reached for her chin, and she ripped it away from his touch.

A tinge of wounded ego frayed the edges of his confidence, and Jafar held his rejected hand in front of his abdomen like a delicate fist.

What was he supposed to say? It'd been a lifetime ago – he'd nothing to apologize for. Nothing to hide. He was a sick bastard more often than not, but for her to honestly believe he'd have incest with his own child – Jafar blew hot air looking away. Fury rekindling.

Jafar callously sneered, "You're acting like a pitiful, little wench."

Jasmine spun on her husband with a look that made him inwardly shrink. "No - I'm just _disgusted_ by the _beast_ I was forced to marry."

A veil dropped over his face but his heart took an unexpected hit and Jafar stepped back before rooting himself firmly.

Jasmine came off the wall, stalking towards him like a tigress. "I will never forgive you for everything you've done to me." Her nostrils flared. "I don't know how you can even live with yourself." Jasmine spun bitterly and he caught her arms, yanking her to his chest and gripping the back of her hair in a deep kiss.

Jasmine whimpered in her throat, tensing as he held her to him and slipped his tongue over the roof of her mouth. But the familiar lust she expected to have turned to one of repulsion as she imagined how he beat her. How he had darkened the path of her life before she'd even been born, and the haze of arousal vanished. This loveless act wasn't enough anymore and Jasmine grew livid, biting down on his lip until he was forced to break away. Jasmine leapt back when Jafar realized what she'd done.

"What the hell," he touched his swollen lip finding blood on the pad of his finger. "You. Bit me?" He scoffed in disbelief unsure if he should be angry or excited by her spirit.

Jasmine kept arms straight at her side, shaking her head. "It's not enough." He came forward and she backed up to keep the distance. "_No_! You can't fix this by having sex with me, or hitting me. Maybe that's how you and _her_ did things. Or you and your whores, or Henrietta, or however many others you tormented and fucked. But I'm _none_ of those women from your past!" She was finding her strength, becoming drunk on it, dizzy with brave staccato. "I'm not like you, I can't shut my heart down – I feel _everything, Jafar!_ . . . I'm sorry for whoever made you this way. I truly am. It's one of the reasons I tried to find proof to discredit those stories. I didn't want my mother, of all people, to be someone who hurt you."

Jafar hardened with an emotion she couldn't read and Jasmine stepped forward, decreasing the space between them and speaking more evenly.

"But whatever happened to you, however painful your past, you can't keep blaming your actions on it. You decide _daily_ to remain hateful and bitter, because you like hiding behind the walls of a black heart." Jasmine craned her neck, puckering a brow as she came directly below him. Jafar kept himself tall as he peered censoriously down the length of his nose.

"And you know _why_ that is?" Jasmine continued, then raised up on her toes to challenge his height. "You're a _coward_."

"I am _not_ a coward." He bit baring large teeth.

"Yes, you are. You're weak. _That's_ why you beat me in the stable."

"I _spanked_ you," he barked, lowering at the neck, and her belly gave a traitorous lurch, "Because you fucking well deserved it."

"Did I deserve what you did to me our wedding night?" It was hardly above a whisper at first, Jasmine's voice rising steadily with insufferable ire. "The night I was most afraid of – the night I was most vulnerable. You stole what remained of my innocence and twisted it into something foul and putrid!" She choked stabbing a finger at his chest and falling back on her heels. "I was helpless and trusted you to protect me as my _husband_. Yet you found joy in my misery. Gained power from my tormented heart and shattered dreams."

Jafar's face flickered over hers and she rose a challenging brow; chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Admit it." Her whisper croaked, "Seeing others weak makes you feel strong because you _have_ no strength of your own."

Jafar's eyes were dilated, muscles flexing in his jaw and down his powerful neck. How she affected him, admittedly, gave Jasmine a sense of pride – _good. _He needed to hear that. Even if it changes nothing it's a medicine for her own heart.

Then, feeling she'd said more than enough for one night, Jasmine bravely turned her back on him and slowly headed up the stairs for bed; Jafar left speechless, brooding in the shadows of the lonely room.

* * *

"So, did you do it? Did you see her again?" Aladdin jumped off his mare, patting it briefly while eagerly looking after the witch.

Lilura rubbed at her temples, the bubbling cauldron dying out into oozing waves of mist. "For a moment, I made contact yes. It's easier when she's distraught to penetrate the realm of her dreams."

"So, she _is_ unhappy!? Alright!" Aladdin grabbed a fistful of air and yanked it to his side.

"Well what'd ya know; a real Prince Charming." Lilura droned thick with sarcasm that was lost on the boy.

"So, what's the next step." Aladdin persisted rubbing palms together as if making a risqué transaction. "How do we get Jasmine here?"

Aladdin jumped back as glass broke in her clenched hands, hair like veins shooting like roots along her wrist and up over her bare shoulder and neck – evidently, he'd asked that question one too many times, and Aladdin wisely chose to shut up.

"I'm sorry," he bowed at the waist and stepped back further. "I'll not ask again."

The witch eased releasing her hands and the shards of glass falling from them, her skin untarnished by the serrated edges. "My pet, patience is key –."

Aladdin nodded standing again. "So . . . Why did you offer to help me get Jasmine back? What's in it for you exactly?"

Lilura had her back turned looking over her potions on a small round table, eyes rolling as she tried to keep her agitation controlled. "I'm a sucker for love stories," she announced sticky sweet adding a condition to her cauldron. "Besides, with the heir of Agrabah out of the way and free to live amongst the thieves, Jafar will have to step down as ruler. Everyone wins." She shrugged cheerily and it placated the simple-minded boy.

"What is the meaning of this. Still playing with newts and bat tails? We've work to do, boy." A wheezily cockroach of a man came forth, the mud squishing beneath his boots as he berated Aladdin.

"Yeah?" Aladdin scoffed boyishly, "come make me." He drew his sword playfully twisting it in his hand and smirking mischievously. The runt drew spikes chains, his weapon of choice, and began swinging it at his side, bandy-legged as he readied to pounce.

"That's enough. Tostig. Aladdin. Save it for the real battles." Roel barked and both men lowered their heads respectfully obeying. "Lilura I've a gift for you." With a finger cocked two other thieves tossed a lumpy little man in the mud to land at Roel's feet.

The squirming, slovenly imp, tried to get away when a steel boot dug into his back and pressed him flat into the mud.

"Look what we caught going through our treasure." Roel announced to Lilura as if he'd caught a wild hog just for her.

Lilura excitedly exclaimed, "Ahh," waggling her shoulders and stooping down to look deep into his eyes. "Hello little pet." She smoothed his gruff oily face with feigned sweetness. "Have you come to play with Madam Lilura?"

"I'll not tell you anything, nothing. Nothing at all. You'll have to kill me before I – ooh, nice hat." Abis Mal gawked at the blue and black wrapping on a thief's head, then remembered he was a hostage. "I'll never say what I know . . . So, you should just – set me free and not waste your time."

Roel shoved the imp's head into the mud to silence his squabbling. The witch stood, rolling thin elegant sleeves and walking to her cauldron.

"Somehow, I had a feeling someone new was coming, so I took special care in preparing a welcoming treat, just for you."

Abis Mal gasped for air when allowed to lift his head. Lilura gave Roel a look; irritated that now shed have to repeat her monologue. The pale man with a scar over his face shrugged uncaring.

"I'll never talk." Abis Mal whined brokenly.

"You don't have to. I love a mind that's already nice and weak." She pulled a slimy ball form the cauldron, it squirmed and the gathered thieves all stood a step back. She coddled it as if it were a human baby instead of a misshapen egg and stooped down to meet Abis Mal. "Ready to play?" Eyebrows waggled and Roel stepped back, giving Lilura full authority over the thief, with a satisfied grin.

Aladdin turned away having seen her torture people before and led his horse down the opposite side of the muddy jagged hill. When he reached the base, Aladdin mounted. Though he wanted to believe the enchantress, Aladdin didn't think he'd the patience to wait for her to make a move. Jasmine, _his_ Jasmine was trapped with a maniac and he was going to take her back. Even alone Aladdin would fight Jafar and win – or die trying.

War was coming to the Forty Thieves, and he planned to be long gone from them, Safed and Agrabah by the time it all broke out; with Jasmine at his side of course. With decision made Aladdin rode off to rescue his Princess.


	24. Chapter 24: Escape

Rutilant orbs were highlighted gold by the cantilever of moonlight that split across Jasmine's daunt expression; the girl repeatedly eyeing the long drop below and the barren guest room behind her, as she straddled the window sill of the second floor.

With a linen cloth sack filled with gold coins, and tied to a black waistband, Jasmine had every intention of leaving with just the clothes on her back; tan, woolen harem pants, a matching long sleeve top and goat skinned clothed shoes that wrapped up to her calves. She'd thrown the ensemble together in a hurry, down to a messily crafted braid, but Jasmine felt utterly prepared to embark on the next phase of her life:

Leaving for good.

That is, if it weren't for the hook of equivocality that had snagged her insides and tugged mercilessly at her fleshy heart, demanding she stay.

The first time, leaving had been but second nature – out of humiliation and offense she'd up and left with no plan of action or wits about her. Simply renounced her life for the bitter unknown.

Now, with a game plan mapped out to a T, and having been, indeed, humiliated and offended, Jasmine _should_ have taken the plunge into the small, frost bitten, garden twenty minutes ago.

Jafar remained downstairs in the darkness (where he fit in best) and with no palace guards, no massive walls to climb, and every reason to go, running away for the second time should've been a cinch.

Yet, there she sat, one leg dangling on the outside of the white washed home, and the other with toes touching the safety of the floor as hands clung to the structure of the sill between her legs; and Jasmine's head hung, subjugated by overwhelming, clouded emotions.

The steam of their fight had yet to wear off in the last hour, but Jasmine insisted that her current thought process was completely rational.

Fight or not, Jasmine discovered she needed something worth living for, _fighting_ for even. Tzipporah admitted she'd faced struggles in her marriage but she _also_ stated it was all worth it in the end.

Jasmine did not have that with Jafar. There'd been too little time and far too much destruction for that to happen and Jasmine was finally at an end; unwilling to fight for a union, for a man, that was beyond saving. (Her own blood had played a role in this charade for Allah's sake!)

This wasn't what she'd signed up for. A mess this big was beyond her control, all unraveling too quickly. The moment Jasmine felt she'd gained a grasp on one end of the situation, another part of the yarn split off and tumbled away in opposing directions, leaving her fumbling and tripping all over the place.

She'd tried to be strong, to mature, and in so many ways she had. But the cost was too much with too little reward; she couldn't handle anymore.

Jasmine didn't see an alternative, though she desperately wanted one.

She loved her city. Her father. Her friends. . . Truthfully, she thought she could have started to love Jafar.

Nevertheless, this was the only course left to take. To get as far away from _anyone_ and _anything_ that linked her to an unforgivable history of darkness, sorcery, adultery, hatred, and death. Jafar would be fine without her. They all would.

With a careening sway Jasmine swung a right leg to join the one dangling outside and clutched the ledge of the sill. With puffed cheeks Jasmine exhaled fragility, and emboldened herself to personify stoutheartedness. She closed her eyes and dropped, stomach floating in her chest as she free fell. She landed hard into the frigid soil, scraping her hands and face as she rolled out into the cobblestone courtyard. Jasmine bit back a groan becoming winded and lying flat on her belly as she laid motionless; the frosted stones biting through her otherwise warm outfit.

Jasmine didn't breathe for a long moment as she waited.

If the commotion had been heard by Jafar he'd not shown himself. The house laid as dark and silent as ever, and only then did Jasmine get to her feet, wincing a little as she tested the weight on her left ankle. A little bruised from the tension she felt, but it wasn't cause for concern.

Carefully she kept her back to the courtyard wall, sliding along the whispering shadows as the wind blew, biting at her cheeks and making them color. She unlatched the stable, found the yellow-gold mare that they'd come here with, and opened the stall with caution, keeping one eye over her shoulder and another on the steed.

"That's it girl – no more carrying saddlebags. You and me," she breathed, reaching carefully to pet her neck, "We're going to go on a little adventure. Just the two of us girls. Would you like that?"

The mare gave a snorting nicker, one eye falling directly into Jasmine's as if she understood every word, and was more than happy to oblige. The magnificent beast, calm and gentle, stepped forward, following Jasmine with a trusting gait.

"That's it," Jasmine smiled in a hushed whisper, "Good girl."

When they were out of the stable, Jasmine close the door once more with precise quiet, looking continually at the sleeping home, and expecting to see Jafar behind her. But he never showed. Jasmine lead the mare along the shadows of the courtyard wall and, stopping every few moments to ensure the clicking hooves had not stirred any unwanted company, successfully reached the gate.

Jasmine lifted the bar with slight difficulty, but managed all the same. It wasn't until the two of them were outside of the walls when Jasmine hesitated and looked behind her one last time. A longing sensation stirred within, and she suddenly felt as if she were losing something.

_It's not too late to go back. Go talk to Jafar. You were just as much at fault tonight, letting your anger get ahold of your tongue._

Jasmine's eyes dropped, a shaky hand petting the waiting steed.

_You knew this would be hard but he's still your husband. Put your pride down, show him forgiveness and love. He has feelings too . . . you saw it in his eyes when you called him names, accused him of insect. It hurt him._

"Like hell if it did." Jasmine scoffed shaking her head, and closed the gate behind her, and with it, the voice of reason.

Slipping off twice, Jasmine struggled at first to mount the bare back of her horse; then finally, using a large nearby rock to stand on, Jasmine was successful. She adjusted to the weight beneath her, winding her grip in the long unruly mane of white hair as the mare moved; then, feeling secure dug her heels into the steed and took off into the dead night. To where Jasmine wasn't entirely sure, but she rode on hard and relentless past the city boundaries, the valleys and flat lands, until they were both spent with exhaustion and stiff from the freezing night.

* * *

The caravanserai, a building with enclosed courts, was a large road station placed between towns. The site was designed for traders, pilgrims, and other travelers, who engaged in long distance traveling, who needed a place to rest themselves and their animals. This caravanserai, in particular, was a rectangular shaped building with a high, walled exterior and a single portal wide enough to permit large or heavily laden beasts, such as camels, to enter through. It was made of dark stones and mortar and gave a dreary foreboding sort of feel, especially in the middle of the night.

But it's appearance never looked more heavenly to the cold exhausted young girl.

There was a guard on post, though Jasmine hardly saw the need for his being there since he snored away leaning against the wall. By his wiry frame, advanced age, and a large book that rested in his crossed arms, Jasmine assumed his purpose of being here were to merely check in the visitors that came and went.

In such a cold night, and sleeping in such an uncomfortable position, Jasmine felt bad for him.

Jasmine hopped off her horse, took a gold coin from the linen cloth, and placed it on top of the guard's book binding, and headed inside the walls. The courtyard was open to the sky, lighted about with tall lanterns. There were a number of identical animal stalls, bays, niches and chambers to accommodate merchants and their servants, animals, and merchandise.

Hardly anyone was out at this hour; any travelers already asleep in one of the chambers. Jasmine found a water trot for the mare, and an empty stall, where she put her away and headed towards the only place in the square that had light emanating from its windows.

A tavern from the looks of it. With luck, she could get a meal and possibly a small space to rest for the night.

Within the tavern were four small round tables with chairs, a bar top, and no color other than brown and a flickering orange from the two lanterns which gave hardly any light. Some harmless elderly men sat in the farthest corner, having been speaking prior to Jasmine's entrance, they all turned and shot disapproving looks.

She smiled their way, with no reciprocation of niceties, then caught sight of a short staircase to her right. Jasmine craned her neck to peer up at the second floor containing three closed off bedrooms. Hopefully one of them was vacant.

A grumbling cough pulled her attention to the man behind the bar top. His eyes were stern, lined with deep wrinkles that extended from the corners out to the apple of his cheeks. He had a thick white beard clinging to his frowning mouth, and a cap over his head, that sat low over his eyebrows, with two curled pieces of long grey hair extending from under it as they dangled by the sides of his wizened face.

Jasmine stepped forward, forcing her head high to act as if she belonged.

"I would like a room for the night, please."

He smacked his gums, looking her over and flatly stated, "No. You need to leave."

"You're joking . . . right?" Jasmine's smile slipped when his serious demeanor remained put. "It's only for one night, sir."

"Just the same, a woman doesn't belong here. Not on her own, to be sure."

"If money's the issue –,"

"It's not." He said pointedly, digging into the heels of his hands on the counter between them. "No good comes of a woman sneaking about in the middle of night. Someone's either chasing you or they're about to be – all the same, no good can come of a woman wandering the desert in the middle of the night. Go home."

Yanking a tattered rag from his shoulder he began rubbing unnecessarily at a discolored, worn circle on the counter top. Jasmine open and closed her palms, looking around the room with a sigh. She was trembling from the nights cold journey – four hours had taken its toll on her.

"I can pay well," she insisted, "Three times that of the room's worth."

The man scoffed, openly looking at her most attractive feminine qualities "A pretty young thing like you, I'm sure you could. But I don't run a brothel – you'll not find work here, so be on your way."

He started to wipe again when three gold coins were dumped on the bar top, nearly missing the aged hand. Brown eyes shot up from their hooded lids, eyeing Jasmine and the coy smirk she held as she crossed her arms.

He smacked his lips again, clearly conflicted. "_One_ night you say?"

She gave an easy nod.

"And I suppose you'll be wanting a meal or two with it." He grumbled.

"Please. I would be most grateful."

His eyes darted to the two men in the corner who had been watching the entire transaction from start to finish, and rolled his eyes with a pinch of his nose.

"Best I can do is a room next to mine upstairs. Its small, but has a coal burner, a bed, and basin. One night only though – whatever it is your running from I don't want no part of. Understood?"

"Fair enough." She said, smoothly sliding into one of the seats.

He nodded looking around the bar and making a squelching sound with his tongue on his crooked teeth. "Soup's on the menu. It's bland but hot."

"Wonderful, thanks." Jasmine rubbed her hands together to get life back into the stiff digits.

Walking with a strained, hobbling, gait, he dipped a ladle into a nearby pot, pouring murky fluid into a small bowl, then set it and an empty mug in front of her.

"Thirsty?" he asked curtly, though it was more of a rhetorical question, since he was already pouring ale into the mug.

"Oh – umm. Tea? Or coffee perhaps?" Jasmine grimaced. She'd not had alcohol since her wedding night, and the aftermath of drinking hadn't been kind to her. "Alright then . . . ale is fine, I guess." She said in a soft tone, spooning the soup and relishing its warmth.

"So," he began, setting aside the pitcher and leaning heavily on the ledge. "Husband. Or father?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Since you're stayin' I would like to know what your business for stayin' is. Must've been a man that's sent you running, so either it's a husband, or a father."

Jasmine cleared her throat, raising then drooping her chest. "Neither." There she went again, lying. Jasmine cleared her throat, "I mean . . . husband." Jasmine stirred her soup absently, watching a few chunks of vegetables floating about the whirlpool of broth. "But that's all I wish to say about the matter."

The man smacked his mouth again in thought then gave an easy nod and went about whipping down the counter once more, when the door blew open and Jasmine nearly jumped out of her seat, half expecting to see Jafar in the doorway.

To her dismayed surprise, her heart slowed to a disappointed sulk when nothing was there but the howling wind and the ink of a dark night. Jasmine lingered her gaze on the empty door a while longer, searching the empty courtyard beyond the threshold as if Jafar would suddenly appear; tired, angry, worried for her safety.

But Jasmine remained without him and returned to her meal.

Making a noise of discontent muttering, the man shifted where he stood. "Should I be expecting this husband of yours to storm in looking for you then?"

He gestured with the tail of his beard to the door, as it slammed back shut on its own accord, and Jasmine shook her head.

"You sure about that?"

Jasmine nodded finding her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth as some unnamed emotion jabbed at her gut. Jafar wouldn't find her in the middle of nowhere – probably didn't _want_ to – and may not even be looking for her.

_That's what you wanted isn't it? To be free of him and forget about him – for him to forget about you?_

Maybe in the heat of the moment, when she'd been angry about their argument, but now that she'd calmed, and could think more clearly, Jasmine found herself wanting.

* * *

Aladdin paced back and forth nervously, rubbing a closed knuckle over his lip until it felt raw against his chattering teeth. He was risking everything, but he'd known that the moment he left to on a one-man conquest. (It was fate alone, he'd decided, that had kept him from actually having to face the snake.)

What better luck could he have asked for than for Jasmine to, at the very moment he was stalking the home, have leapt from the window and rode off into the night. Could any man deny that it was their destiny to be together when the gods of the world had designed such a marvelous opportunity? Of course not!

The tavern door blew open with a sudden gust of wind and he spotted Jasmine before leaping out of sight like a coward. What if she didn't want to see him?

The way they had left off all those months ago. The way he'd seen her smiling in the streets with that fucker, after clearly defiling her in that alcove – Aladdin averted his gaze from the vision, turning his head with a pinched expression. He mustn't think of her in that way, especially with a foul beast.

Aladdin preferred to be blind to that part of her and kept Jasmine preserved in his memory as the innocent young princess he left behind. Whatever she did with Jafar had been for survival and he refused to acknowledge that her virtue had been stolen – soon the past wouldn't matter any longer, and they could finally become one and leave it all behind.

He had plenty of work to do in repairing the broken girl that sat in the tavern, but it would all be worth it in the end. His fragile dove was worth every sacrifice.

Aladdin took a steadying breath that puffed out his chest, kept his mouth covered with the black head wrap, and stepped silently inside, taking a seat in the opposite corner of the elderly men playing Tamerlane Chess. Jasmine remained engrossed in a hushed conversation with the bar keeper and sipped languidly from a mug.

Aladdin cringed praying she wasn't drinking ale – of course Jafar had led her down such a destructive path. How else was she to cope? Aladdin locked eyes with the older man, whom of which now eyed him suspiciously as he lowered his head to Jasmine's, clearly warning her that someone had come in and was watching them speak.

Proving Aladdin's theory correct, Jasmine cautiously looked over her shoulder at him, then whispered something again to the inn keeper while shifting her knees towards the exit.

"What's your business stranger? If you're looking for a room there's none left tonight, but your free to sleep in open of the stables. Hay is warm if you can tolerate the smell."

With a darkly wrapped hand that hid even the tips of his fingers, Aladdin waved away the offer without speaking.

The old man pulled a no nonsense hard expression, and leaned forward on the bar top.

"Ale then?"

Again, Aladdin responded in a similar fashion, and it only grated the keeper's distrust.

"You better speak plainly then or get out – I don't tolerate trouble, and that's precisely what you look like."

Aladdin sighed, watching Jasmine's turned back persistently then faltering when he seen the man stiffen and reach under the counter for a weapon.

"I'm meeting a friend here." Aladdin blurted hurriedly, and his heart started to palpitate. "A woman – I told her to wait for me. Now I'm here to see if she has."

Jasmines posture slowly rose, tense and uneasy though he could sense her heart racing just as fast as his. Surely, she knew his voice, like a babe recognizes its mothers voice, his must indeed still be precious to her, just as hers would be to him.

Now was the moment of truth, and Aladdin held his breath and waited.

* * *

"A-Aladdin?"

He pulled down his mouth piece and winked at her with a handsome smile.

"Hello, Princess." He crooned.

Jasmine nearly fell out of her seat upon standing but managed to stay upright as she approached, wide eyed with wagging brows as she stammered. "How – why- where did you. I – I don't know what to say."

Aladdin smiled as he stood, stretching an arm behind his back and smiling at the floor. "A hug will do."

A breathy laugh came from behind her teeth as she allowed, more than reciprocated, a hug to ensue. He felt warm and gentle but it did little to penetrate her heart.

"I can't believe you're here with me."

"_I_ can't believe you are either." Aladdin held her at arm's length beaming at her with pride. "So, you did it. You escaped Agrabah and that tyrant of a snake, I always knew you had it in you. I'm assuming he's controlling Agrabah now?"

Aladdin pulled out a chair for her and Jasmine sat down, taking a breath as she tugged at her braid and held her stomach.

Of course, Aladdin didn't know anything. He'd left weeks before she was captured and brought back to the palace. Which meant he didn't know about the marriage, the fire, or all that she'd endured as of late. There was so much to catch up on, but in truth Jasmine didn't have the heart to tell him she hadn't waited for him; more so she'd _forgotten_ about him.

"Jafar is Sultan of Agrabah – yes." Jasmine said avoiding the topic best she could.

Aladdin scooted his chair forward so their knees brushed against each other and Jasmine shifted to create distance under the table. To no avail, Aladdin slid his rear to the edge of the seat so she couldn't escape his intrusive legs that landed on either side of her tightly pressed ones. Apparently, he was oblivious to personal space.

_Out of all the things you've done to upset Jafar, **this** would top the cake._

And the smallest part of her wished, momentarily, that Jafar could see this. That he would realize that other men would gladly fight to be with her, and maybe that would snap some sense into Jafar. (But it was childish to think to crassly.)

"So – did you ever get my letter?"

The letter she found when she'd been broken, crying because she would have to sell her body to remain hidden in the brothel, and finding Aladdin had abandoned her? Oh yes, she'd gotten that slap-in-the-face-note indeed, and reliving the moment now churned her stomach inside out.

"Yes Aladdin. I found the letter." She said softly not meeting his eyes.

"And did you?" he asked. "Did you wait for me?"

Jasmine felt a twinge of anger rising up in the back of her throat. That was what concerned him after all this time?

"Are you asking if I kept my _virtue_ or my _heart_ reserved for you?"

"They're the same thing, are they not? You wouldn't give someone your virtue and be able to deny them your heart as well – am I right?" he chuckled dryly, voice thinning, as the mood shifted. "So . . . _did_ you wait for me, like I asked? Because, I waited for you."

Jasmine was beginning to feel uncomfortable. Though he kept a smile on his face that could steal the hearts of angels, there was something different. Unseen to the naked eye but Jasmine could feel it with her soul. Maybe she'd been around the darkness too often and became more aware when she was in the presence of it – perhaps Jafar had ruined her trust in people and that was the cause for her leeriness now.

Whatever the case, Jasmine saw a _thing_ present in Aladdin. It had no name yet could be called upon, no life of its own yet it held a certain power. It was dark, lurking, watching her through Aladdin's hooded eyes, and a chill crept ever so slowly from the tips of her fingers up the backs of her arms.

Aladdin was different – wherever he'd spent the last several months, whomever he'd spent them with, had affected him substantially, and all warning bells rang off. Jasmine eyed the exit, the inn keeper who kept a watchful eye on them, and the exit again before forcing a smile to Aladdin.

"My heart belongs to me, Aladdin." She stated as clearly as her nervousness would allow. "As far as waiting for your return, I couldn't. You asked too much from someone with too little options."

And that was all she was willing to say. How little she had known this boy before had only increased substantially; and she was not at liberty to share beyond what was necessary to remain polite.

"Fair enough," he said, looking down and seemingly recomposing any afflictions he may have felt before, smiling once again. "We're together again now, so that's all that matters."

_Sure. _"It is good to see you, Aladdin. You look like you've been keeping well." Jasmine gestured to him with a hand. "I love the new look on you. Very – domineering."

"I've found some new friends along the way, yes. Their costume idea, not mine," he mused lightly, "but it helps in our line of work – I've told them a lot about you, you know, and they would love to meet you someday."

"_Oh_?"

"Mm-hmm. About our history, and all we've been through. I'll tell you, if you're looking for a group of people that hate Jafar more than you and I, you'd be in good company with them." He sniggered

"_Oh_. I see." Jasmine breathed as a pool of alarm filled her chest to the brim.

Sure, she wasn't Jafar's number one fan, but she didn't want to join a clan of people filled with hate for him.

"They know _all_ about the snake beast sorcerer. And I'll tell you Jasmine, if you ever want to get back at him for all he did to you – to _us_ – they've a power of their own."

"What do you mean?"

Aladdin looked around as if the walls were listening and leaned forward to whisper. "Let's just say that Jafar, that fucking _bastard_, isn't the only powerful being in the world." He waggled his brows and leaned back comfortably in the chair with a sideways smirk.

Jasmine's smile felt drawn on, thin and crooked. She commanded her body to react, for herself to laugh manically in false joy; to tell Aladdin 'congratulations' and pretend to be interested in his ploy of overthrowing her husband. But her heart defeated her mind and the warmth in her cheeks drained down into her core, leaving a batch of lava liquifying her soft organs.

Someone more powerful than Jafar? An enemy? Jasmine wanted to run, to hurry back to her husband and warn him. To protect him from harm.

"That's . . ." she cleared her throat, and spoke to the table, "That's incredible. H-How did you, umm. _Who_?" She laughed with a shrug.

"It's sort of a secret. I'd be betraying them if I said too much right now. Anyways, are you staying here tonight?"

Jasmine nodded unable to lie when she needed to most.

"Good, good. You need to be somewhere safe. Although, you've survived this long on your own so I suppose I don't need to give you a lecture again about life outside the palace." He smiled and leaned forward to take her hand gently in his. "Jasmine, I truly am sorry for leaving you. I did love you. I – I still do."

For a moment, she saw the real Aladdin, the kind one she had cared for once upon a time. Whatever mess he was involved in made her fearful, not only for herself and Jafar, but also for her old friend. The darkness seemed to keep poisoning the people in her life, even the ones long since passed, and Jasmine's heart ached for all of them.

Including Jafar.

Jasmine touched his hand on top of hers. "Don't be sorry, Aladdin. We can't change the past, and honestly, everything happens as it should. I wouldn't change it."

His softness flickered with bemusement, large brows drawing down. "You wouldn't?"

Well some things she'd wished had gone differently – The way Jafar had found her in the brothel, leaving Tahira behind and the fire that followed after. She'd have changed her wedding night with Jafar and wished he didn't have such a disturbing history with her family. Those things she'd wished had gone differently, but the fact was she couldn't change any of it, only learn from those before her, and fight to make sure the future was far better.

"No – I wouldn't change anything, because it's made me stronger, in ways I never thought I could be. It's been challenging and at times I cried so much that I thought I'd never be able to stop. But – those things needed to happen." Jasmine paused with a small smile. "A lot of it doesn't make sense, and I struggle to find forgiveness and strength in certain areas, but I – I'm at peace with how it all turned out."

"You are?" he asked flatly.

Jasmine gave a wayward smile noticing they were still holding hands. His had become clammy on hers; a little too tightly they clasped, and Jasmine could feel his quickened pulse from his wrist. A lump formed at the base of her throat and she couldn't swallow.

"That's uh – good to hear, Jasmine. Good to hear."

_For some reason, I doubt that._

"Well then. I should be leaving, I planned to ride on through the night to get back to my people. But I can come back in the morning for you, if you'd like? I don't want to lose you again – and my people, oh, you would love them. I know you would, Jasmine." He gripped her fingers tighter when she tried to slink them away, and Jasmine suppressed her protest. "When I left you Jasmine it was never for good. We are meant to be together, in whatever way you see fit. But I know that we're supposed to be in each other's lives. Tonight, is proof of that."

Jasmine nodded looking down. She was getting ready to open her mouth to speak when the table shifted under Aladdin's weight and he leaned across to capture her mouth in a kiss. Her eyes shot open as she watched what was done to her – Aladdin's eyes closed, mouth open as he collided his tongue against her dormant one, licking her teeth and pulling at her mouth until it was covered in saliva. Jasmine nearly gagged, when Aladdin finally broke it off and stood, coming around to her side to cup her face.

"I'll be back around high noon. We won't have to wait anymore – I love you Jasmine. I always have." He purred petting the side of her face.

She remained tense with a mimicked smile. He kissed her again and it made her cringe inwardly at the abrasive pell-mell manner in which he assaulted her person space. This was not the same Aladdin she'd known – at least this side of him she hadn't known. Not to this extent. It made her frightened, infuriated, but mostly it made her regret ever leaving the safety of her husband's arms.

She imagined Jafar storming in, in a jealous protective rage, kicking down the door as he did in the brothel, and ripping her away and hiding her behind him as he saved her. Then he'd avenge her and make sure nothing and no one ever disrespected her again because she belonged to him and him alone.

"Aladdin," Jasmine breathed pushing him from her, and stumbling backwards, the chair screeching across the floor, as she stood. "I'll umm, see you tomorrow." Her voice trembled with each word, Aladdin sobering as he licked his lips.

_Stop tasting me!_

"I'm sorry Jasmine," he started, reaching for her again, and Jasmine took a step back. "I didn't mean to alarm you – forgive me."

Jasmine nodded, watching Mordechai from where he stood on the other side of the counter, looking as though he were ready to pounce on Aladdin for causing problems in his tavern. The older men playing chess were watching them now too, and Jasmine flushed with embarrassment at the audience.

"You're forgiven Aladdin – It was good to see you again, my _friend_."

He picked up on the aura of the room and bowed out, hiding his self-loathing best he could with a smile. "So, you'll come with me tomorrow then?"

"Yes," she lied, with a ghostlike voice.

Aladdin tilted his head in a smile and pulled the cover back over his mouth.

Jasmine's heart stopped dead – unable to breathe until her lungs dried up and skin turned to black ice.

She'd been so shocked to have seen Aladdin that she hadn't noticed it sooner; but now – oh Allah, it hurt so deeply. To recognize the man before her, as the man she had bumped into in the streets the day before the fire. The one who had kept a watchful eye on her as she walked away.

Dressed like the Thieves, decked out head to toe in blue and black garments.

Someone had pulled her from the fire that day – _someone_ who had already been there watching, scouting the perimeter, while the others set the city ablaze.

Aladdin was one of them: a traitor, a liar, a manipulator . . . a _murderer_.

Jasmine swayed, nearly falling flat on her face when she caught the back of the chair to steady herself. Aladdin stepped forward with concern but she waved him away, shaking her head.

"It's the ale I drank – it just made me – uh – very tired." She assured brokenly, trying not to look at him lest her bleeding heart gave her away.

"Are you sure?" he asked, and Jasmine nodded again.

A pair of thin wiry arms came around her and Jasmine leaned into one of the old men that had surprisingly come to her aid. Mordechai could be heard speaking to Aladdin, telling him it was time for him to go, but Jasmine pretended she didn't hear, letting herself be guided to a seat and keeping her head down.

"Alright then," Aladdin said tightly, his voice becoming distant as he was guided by Mordechai to the exit. "Tomorrow, Jasmine."

"Come on now, out of my Inn. It's nearly morning, and I need to close up. Out you go, out you go."

Mordechai ushered, and before Aladdin could protest, the door was shut and the lock slid into place. Mordechai leaned against the door with an outstretched arm, the curled hairs from under his hat dangling as he shook his head at Jasmine.

"See," he huffed, "No good can come from letting a woman in here, in the middle of the night."

"Yet you kicked out the man instead." Jasmine scoffed lightly, rubbing her temples as she looked up.

"Yeah well, I like _you_ – I don't like the looks of him." He limped forward to join the other two men, who were hovering over Jasmine like she was a feeble animal. "Was _that_ the husband?"

She shook her head, feeling almost grateful that she'd married Jafar instead. He was many things, but he'd never be responsible to murdering innocent women and children. He was an asshole and a sadist, but even _he_ had boundaries.

Jasmine heart lurched as she lit up with fear. "I have to leave – I need to go see my husband."

Mordechai made a sound of protest. "Wait a while longer for that man to leave. Sun will start to rise in a few hours – rest until then, and ill prepare you some food for your journey back."

Jasmine thanked Mordechai, and the other two men, for their kindness. She did need to rest, although it would be an uneasy sleep, and headed upstairs to the guest room. Jasmine curled up on the bed, starring at the backs of her eyes as her mind raced relentlessly.

She could run still, run away from Aladdin too. Board a ship and rid her conscience of the past and all its misfortunes. For the first time Jasmine was given a choice instead of one being thrust upon her. It was tempting to take the easy way out . . . and her reluctance to do the right thing is what made her toss and turn. Her mind screamed at her, telling her to save herself, leave and never look back on either of them.

But her heart spoke louder this time, winning out in the end.

She needed to warn Jafar, at the very least, and let him know the thieves were here. That Aladdin said they held a power of their own that could destroy him. She'd not let her pride and injured emotions stand in the way of what was right.

_If Jafar gets overthrown doesn't he deserve it? After all he's done to you? To your family? He doesn't deserve your help._

Maybe not – but she had no right to cast that sort of judgment on him. Not when it was so evident that darkness was a sly, powerful thing. It had robbed countless others, her mother, Jafar, and now Aladdin, from the life they could've had. Who was she to harness animosity because of their weaknesses. She wasn't without faults of her own, but that didn't mean she didn't deserve compassion and love.

And she couldn't allow herself to keep denying Jafar the same.

Jasmine wouldn't let him fall because she'd been too stubborn to forgive him. Regardless of the past, Jafar was a part of her, a part of her heart, and the man she vowed her life to deserved to know what he was up against – regardless of the consequences that may ensue. At the first sign of dawn, she'd be on her way, running back to the man she'd left behind.

And, in choosing Jafar, Jasmine finally felt at peace and drifted off into a deep sleep.


	25. Chapter 25: Anomaly Part 1

Opaque, grey, colors scuffed the perfection of a robin blue sky as the early morning sunrise became asphyxiated with heavy rain clouds. A sign which, Jasmine could only assume, meant a nasty downpour was near.

Jasmine had traveled at first light – having been able to only sleep a mere hour before anxiety of Aladdin's return woke her – but despite her efforts to make good timing she and her mare arrived several hours late. Perhaps it was the cold, which blew more wildly than last night, that slowed them down.

Exhaustion now was setting in for them both. If they got caught in nasty weather, in a deadly foreign element foreign and deadly, Jasmine feared it would seal their fate. Safed's white stoned city, which overlooked the valleys below, was about an hours hike up hill. Jasmine groaned, but tried to instill hope into the horse.

"Come on Honey." The golden pelt glided beneath jasmines hand, "We're almost there. It's not as far as it looks. Really, it's not – I bet Cyrus and Tzipporah will be so happy to see us that they'll even give us _both _hot tea! Oh, and maybe a fig cake! And some roasted nuts." Jasmine belly grumbled.

_And I bet Jafar will give **you** hot iron across the face and add a few decorative bruises to your torso._

Jasmine paled at the voice and held her stomach.

As if in response to Jasmine's inner turmoil, Honey scuffed the soft ground, shaking her head with a whining snort, and started backing up.

"Oh Honey, I'm sure it won't be that bad." There she went again speaking to the damn animal for reassurance; although it was more for herself than the horse. "I'm doing the right thing, alright? It's my duty . . . Oh, I'm sorry. What am I supposed to do? _Leave_? Be with _Aladdin_? Overthrow the man I vowed my life to?"

Coincidentally, Honey shook her head again.

"Well okay then, I don't have many other options." There was a pause as Jasmine exhaled, her breath visible against the unyielding cold. "Honey . . . I can't do this alone . . . I thought I could – but it's bigger than me – the choices I make effect so many others. I need to pick a side, and right now my mind is screaming for me to go back to him. To do what's right. Even if it means . . ."

What would it mean to return? The first time she'd ran away Jafar nearly killed her. He killed someone else because of her. Who would he kill this time? Aladdin? Her?

Both most likely.

_No – he's changed. You've felt it. You've seen it. It's so subtle but it's there. It has to be._

In exasperation Jasmine asked, "Why does it have to be?"

There was no answer from herself. No reassurance or closure to the confusion raging on. Jasmine believed there had to be some ripple of hope left, plain and simple. If there was no hope – if there was no possibility for redemption in this man . . .

_Well if there isn't, then this can only be a mistake._

"This is a mistake . . ."

* * *

Cyrus hadn't peeled himself away from the frosted window for several hours. It had been the middle of the night when everything dear to him, every reason for his existence, had walked out the door, across the courtyard, and out of his life. Cyrus had wept silently by that window until sunrise, gaping out at the empty stone walls as if Tzipporah and his children would burst back through them again. Though the tears had dried up, their markings clung to the reams of his cheeks leaving behind swollen puffy eyes.

_If only Lord, if only. Bring them back to me. Bring them back._

He recited internally, over and over like some sacred ritual, until the words blended together and none of it made sense. It hurt – oh God it hurt! His insides were withering – like dried slivers of meat hanging on a hook – so that every shallow breath became utter torment. If this wasn't death, then death itself seemed comforting, and Cyrus wished it would come.

It wasn't less than what he deserved, he knew. It'd been years before he told another soul of what he'd done – of the fate he'd sent his son's bride to. A fate which also took his unborn grandchild, and in the end, Malachi. Last night, Cyrus couldn't keep it from Tzipporah any longer.

. . . He told her everything.

He could still see it. The way she she pulled back from his with indescribable sadness in her watery eyes. He'd broken her trust with betrayal – an act, he feared, that could ever be healed by his might alone. Now – now he'd lost the remainder of his family.

There was nothing left.

_Unless?_

The heavy gate creaked open, a hooded figure, misshapen by the windows glass, emerged. And a horse! It was them! Cyrus leapt from the chair, dashed across his room, down the hall, bounding down the steps two at a time, and threw the front door open with a gush of wind, when – all joy evaporated. Time slowed again and the aching weight of despair settled in the pit of his stomach once more.

"_Oh_, Good morning Cyrus. I was just about to knock – that's. Umm, I hope I didn't wake you by opening the gate?"

Jasmine's face was pale, almost ghostlike, with dark eyes that sunk into her face and dry chapped lips that were lined with blue splotches from the cold. Even so, the young queen was a stunning beauty and managed to smile at him with a special warmth. Cyrus was slightly happy to see she had returned safely, but couldn't help but be selfish in wishing he could replace her presence with that of his family's.

Jasmine's shiver went unnoticed as did most of her breathy words. "I was gone last night, you see. I sort of left without telling anyone, but I know now it was a mistake."

Cyrus didn't budge from barring the door and Jasmine began to feel like an outcast unwelcome in their home. Very possibly running away from your husband was frowned upon here too, and she might be turned away altogether.

"Cyrus, Jafar and I had an argument."

"That's between a man and his wife. No one else." Cyrus didn't move but spoke little above a whisper.

"Please. I wish to speak to him? I shouldn't have left, I know that now. I was afraid and, frankly, stupid." The man's face remained impartial with glazed eyes that appeared to have been crying. Jasmine reached out, giving a light pat to the large knuckles that wrapped around the door post. "Cyrus – is everything alright?"

As his lids closed at the touch of Jasmine's delicate hand, both eyes burned with the threat of tears. It'd been mere hours spent in solitude but to Cyrus it'd felt like an eternity since anyone had offered comfort; this child's affection was almost too much to bear.

This little woman of sixteen, just a year above his own daughter, was noticeably worn and frail; having been drug through the dirt time and again, facing heartache that would've crushed any young soul beyond reconciliation. Regardless of her own situation Jasmine offered up all she could to lift his spirits and Cyrus gave a tearful smile.

"Come in – please come in out of the cold. I'll set on some tea and we'll get you a warm blanket."

It was surprisingly easy to care for someone else whilst enduring a time of sorrow. (Although, Tzipporah would've known how to better serve a young frightened child and what words of comfort were needed to mend a weary heart.) Still, Cyrus found that preparing a hot batch of refreshments, serving a slice of Tzipporah's cake, and making small chatter helped both Jasmine and himself to ease the burden of desolation. It wasn't until some anxious looks were cast over her shoulder that Cyrus picked up on her uneasiness.

Smacking his lips to lick tea off his mustache, Cyrus calmly offered assurance.

"He's not here, your Majesty."

Almond eyes widened and it was difficult to tell if the girl was assuaged or disquieted by Jafar's absence.

Nonchalantly Jasmine tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, talking to her tea with uncertainty. "Is he, umm. He's not looking for me, is he? There's a storm coming and I didn't mean to cause problems – I didn't want him to come searching for me." She was still a piss ass liar.

"Don't worry yourself over nothing, now. Jafar left shortly after you did. But not to find you." He added at the end when her features tightened. "Jafar watched you leave, Jasmine. I swore he would've stopped you but he didn't move. Just watched from the parlor room as you led out the mare and kept watching even after you were beyond the walls. When I asked him why he didn't stop you he didn't give an answer. I'm not so sure he could, he was so . . . Distant."

"_oh_," Jasmine found difficulty forming such a simple word and put her head down, staring heavily at her nimble fingers as they clutched the china.

"They're gone too."

Cyrus nodded to the lifeless wooden seats and Jasmine's heartbroken look made him want to cry all over again. Stubby fingers ran over his peppered beard, then settled on his right, bouncing knee, as he offered an explanation.

"When Jafar had left – I don't know what came over me. Perhaps a force from God which worked against my better judgment - but I woke Tzipporah. I woke her and I confessed a secret that I had been holding onto for several years. A truth that has continually beaten my spirit and when I unloaded the burden on her . . ." Cyrus paused briefly to bring solidity back to his voice. "Within an hour she and the children were packed and headed off to Israel to be with her sister. I begged her to stay – I said I would leave instead, but I couldn't stop her." Cyrus whispered. "I couldn't stop them and now I've lost them forever."

Neither of them found the strength to speak for a long moment after, and Jasmine was thankful Cyrus didn't judge nor condemn her for leaving but instead understood mistakes all too well. (Not that she'd wish this pain on her worse enemy.) She felt guilty for believing he'd turn her away at the door when all this family had done was show her love abounding from the start. Jasmine held his hand on the table and kissed his knuckles, the two sharing a weary smile.

"The mountains," Cyrus sniffed.

The sudden break in quiet was slightly jolting. "What?"

"There's a set of mountains some little ways outside the city, heading north east. Maybe a fifteen, twenty-minute ride by horse. It's a tad rough terrain, but there's deep caves hidden within the steepest walls of the mountains. The horses can make it most the way, but the rest is done on foot."

Jasmine couldn't help but scoff as she went to take a sip of tea. "I can't imagine a man as regal as Jafar hiking through rough terrain."

As funny as the image was, an old one, of Jafar lifting massive beams and rescuing people in Agrabah, came to mind and all humor was quickly lost; especially when Cyrus had become deadpanned.

He was just in sending a stern look her way. Jafar safety could've been at risk in harsh trails in the dead of night. Had any ill fate befallen him there'd be no one to blame but herself.

"So . . . he's in a cave?"

"Undoubtedly. There's a certain cave no one else has yet to find, aside from the two of us. Found it as boys, and I still keep a stash of supplies and provisions up there for when I visit time to time. Helps to clear my mind."

"And Jafar needed to clear his, I assume?" _Sure, or conjure up new diabolical ways to torture you given he ever seen you again._

The frown scarcly left Cyrus' face all morning, but now it had creased deeper around the whiskers of his mouth and the crow's feet near his solid eyes, as if reading her mind.

"Jafar wasn't always like this, Jasmine."

She'd try to play it aloof, "What do you mean?"

"Cruel. Calloused. Consumed with virulence."

Well, at least there was someone else who could confirm validity to her misery, but there seemed to be an underlying message here. One of which Jasmine wasn't sure she wanted to hear.

"When we were young I saw him for who he really was – and I still do. Beyond the scars, both physically and mentally there still lies the boy I once knew."

He had scars _outwardly_? She'd never seen them.

"His mother gave them to him," came another intuitive reply, "I don't recall her name, if she had one at all. She didn't even give Jafar a name – other than bastard or abomination."

"What mother doesn't name her child?" Did he have to name himself? Did _her _mother name him?

"That woman was no mother. The creature crawled from the gates of hell itself and from Jafars first draw of breath, forced him to live in a hell bo one should ever live." Suddenly Cyrus wished he were drinking something stronger as he recalled the demons of a past life. "I met her once, only for a split moment, but it was more than enough. Never had I seen so much abhorrence in someone's eyes. There was a presence in her soul – unnatural. Not part of this world." Cyrus ran stout hands over his tired face and leaned back in the chair, making it whine beneath his weight.

Jasmine winced with the unveiling of Jafar's past, though it must only be the tip of the iceberg. What was the extent of his sufferings? And mostly how did he even survive!? For a lifetime Jafar knew only misery, only hatred, only rejection. How could a boy hold out to believe there was any kindness in the world after submerged in a world without a trace of compassion? And what role, if any, did her mother play in creating the iniquitous villain?

It wasn't that she wanted to know; she must know.

"To be truthful Cyrus, I had stolen an item from Jafar's tower a few weeks back and brought it here to Safed. A journal I believed was my mother's. He found it's hiding place and punished me."

"So, you ran away?"

The hard wood beneath her bum grew painful and Jasmine shifted to uncross and cross her legs. "It wasn't just that – I learned about him and my mother. Sahara. I know now that they carried on together in secret for years." She'd rather eat a clog of dirt than repeat such an embarrassing truth to a stranger, "Jafar wouldn't tell me anything more about her. No one ever discusses my mother."

Jasmine batted hopeful eyes, "do _you_ know anything about her? About . . . _Them._" Ew. Ew. Ew.

Jasmine's apprehension was taken into consideration and Cyrus replied with as much respect as possible.

"Jafar and I had begun to drift apart slightly as we grew older. I joined a gang of thieves that traveled across the world, while Jafar, despite himself, remained with his mother, working for the palace to earn food and shelter for her sake. One night, when he was little older than you are now, he found the body of his mother – blood all over the floor."

_Oh Allah no._

"She'd taken her own life so to, Jafar believed, escape the burden of having him as her son."

_No! – How could he possibly take that burden upon himself?_

"Your father, the soft-hearted man he is, allowed Jafar to live within the palace walls and presume his duties. Over the years the Sultana must've offered him the only source of love or compassion he'd ever known – whether it was a good kind or wicked, I'm not equipped to judge." Cyrus cut himself short trailing off and looking away.

"What else Cyrus. About her. Please speak truth to me, or else how am I to understand?"

He open and closed his mouth then sighed. "Sahara was a troubled woman Jasmine. Rumors spread that she sold her soul to a witch in exchange for magic. Black magic. Jafar's _mother _created a damaged man – but the fallen Queen had sculpted him into a weapon."

Jasmines jaw worked side to side as the brim of her eyes began filling with tears. He shouldn't have said anything – it wasn't his place. But clearly blatant honest was spreading like a fever and he couldn't contain himself.

Cyrus waved the air between them, muttering phrases that he himself didn't believe, "The past is the past Jasmine – it happened the way it was always supposed to, the way it was meant to. No sense letting it affect our present. Forgive and forget. Let it go."

A clear sheen of snot glistened on the back of Jasmine's hand as she dabbed at her nose in an attempt to stop crying. Crocodile tears poured out despite her efforts and she began trembling with a pinched voice.

"So, I'm just supposed to _excuse_ Jafar for all he's done because of the _past_?" She squawked, "I'm supposed to _forgive_ the unforgivable simply because my mother, and his, screwed him up? And now I'm what – I'm, _suffering_ because of _their_ evilness? How is that fair? They're both _dead_ and still they're robbing me of my happy ending – _Jafar_ is robbing me of love and of a future all because _someone else_ did it to _him_!?"

She had begun pacing now along the kitchen floor, shaking violently as she shook her head in protest.

"I had a chance for happiness. I had a hope for what my life could be – but I'm supposed to forgive and forget!? Is that what you told Tzipporah when you broke _her _heart? Why do you men think this is okay? That we're supposed to lie down and accept whatever you throw at us!?"

_Cyrus_ rubbed at his temples still trying to shake the sleeplessness off and think more clearly. Clearly upsetting women was also becoming a part of today's to do list.

"Jasmine I –, and she's gone." Jasmine bolted out the front door Cyrus banged the table with his knee as he jumped to go after her. If he'd know she was such a flight risk he'd have taken the seat nearest the exit.

"Jasmine wait!"

She didn't want to wait. She wanted to leave. Anywhere. It didn't matter. The right thing had been so clear an hour before, but now it was all static.

"Jasmine, oh Lord it's cold as hell! Jasmine, please stop! Where are you going?"

"It doesn't matter."

A massive drop of rain splashed on his forehead. "The storm is already upon us, you can't travel!"

"I can handle a little rain," Jasmine shouted above the thunder while ripping open the stable doors. Honey announced her disapproval and backed up against the wall, shaking her head back and forth with bared teeth.

Just then the skies cracked open to unleash a gush of water. They were instantly soaked and the pebbled courtyard began to fill up in massive puddles as the wind slashed viciously, making it difficult for them to breathe.

"Inside!" Cyrus' bellow was scarcely audible through the rain, but once he slammed the stable shut and pulled Jasmine alongside him, the message was clear.

Both were gasping, soaked to the bone after the long tread back to the house – a walk made infinite by the harsh storm – and Jasmine stood mutinously in a corner, dripping wet. Cyrus turned form the door, shrugging off his cloak to hang on a hook, and shook his head disapprovingly.

"What were you thinking?" He didn't mean to sound like a cross father, but maybe that's what she needed right now to gain perspective and common sense. "Jasmine there are floods and mudslides that have taken out full grown men. Not just women, or children, hard built, large men. None of us are a match for God's handiwork – hell bent or outraged, there is no excuse to run off all half-cocked like that."

He was right of course, but the scolding did little to make her want to cooperate. She was still heated, completely overcome with anger and self-pity, and it would take more than 'heavens wrath' to make her see clearly.

"I just don't want to face him again." Jasmine hugged her soaking body. "When he comes back – I thought I could face him again. Maybe even try and have reconciliation, but it hurts too deep. Yes, I know it's in the past, but most of what's happened to me is still too present. Nothing can negate the pain I feel every time I'm around him. Every ounce of fear I have when I hear his name."

She felt other things too when she saw him. Heard angels sing whenever his voice rang in her ears, or the taste of his name as it rolled sweetly off her tongue.

_More to the point! _There was little distinction between loathing and love when it came to Jafar, so Jasmine clung to the one most certain.

"Cyrus, I – I can't. I mean I don't!"

Fuck, she could not stop crying! She was so deprived of sleep and now frost had settled beneath her skin. She was no match for being emotional distraught while physically overwhelmed and Cyrus helped steady her before she buckled.

"It's alright child – here, now. I'll make hot water for a bath. There's a tub in Tzipporah's boudoir just down the hall. We'll get you dry clothes, some food, and some rest. Come – come. We can talk later. It's barely nine in the morning. There's time left in this day yet – you can figure out what to do later."

* * *

Later came quickly at high noon when Jasmine rose from a deep, dreamless slumber. She tried to fight the odd sting that came when looking over at the empty spot next to her, and found herself missing Jafar's warmth as she had the previous night. She laid in the guest bed silently lolling over what little Cyrus had shared that morning. It was easier to process now that she was clean, warm, and rested. Although the vision of Jafar's agony as a child did churn her insides, Jasmine didn't feel like breaking down. She wasn't as angry at Jafar or her mother, but was more so with herself for being unable to see past her own heartache.

After another half hour of staring at the ceiling, Jasmine decided not to waste any more time and got out of bed. It sounded as if the rain had more or less stopped so Jasmine hurried to pack a small bag with some essentials, fixed up her hair and added a slight dab of charcoal to her eyes and crimson to her lips before finding a suitable outfit to travel in. If the caves were another twenty minutes north it would be even colder – plus, it might rain again – so she added a shawl and her thickest pair of shoes to complete the ensemble.

Cyrus was sitting in the parlor room, watching through the glass to the courtyard when Jasmine landed at the bottom step. He didn't seem to notice her presence and it might've been possible to leave the grounds without a note of discernment on his end.

"I'm sorry Cyrus," Jasmine tried, feeling impolite for watching an unsuspecting man as he mourned. He turned to give a wayward smile but resumed his watch. "Did she say when she would return?"

_If at all?_

Cyrus shook his head and gave the back of it a scratch. "I assume in spring . . . the garden is so beautiful then, and her favorite flowers grow along the base of the house."

That was at least six months out, but it still might've been a longshot to hope for a Spring arrival. Still, she wouldn't dare dampen his hope and Jasmine smiled reassuringly.

"I believe they'll return then too – it'll be warm again. There will be new life everywhere. That's when there's the most hope." Besides, where there was life growing, there was always hope.

"Yes." Came his small response. Cyrus peeled away from forlorn long enough to slap his knees happily. "How about some tea? We can have that little chat and maybe help clear this all up for you – help you better make a decision."

Jasmine caught his ogre like arm as he headed for the kitchen, stopping him with a small laugh. "Thank you, my friend. But you've done so much and I don't want to take any more of your time."

Cyrus glanced at the packed bag at her feet and chewed his cheek. "You're still going to leave him? Leave your palace and your people? Is there no way you can find hope amongst all this chaos?"

"I don't know just yet . . . First, I'm going to find Jafar. There is some information I gathered last night and I believe it's imperative for him to know. After that, I'll take it one step at a time."

"Information, you say? About the Forty Thieves?"

Jasmine inhaled deeply. "There's a man named Aladdin, that I ran into at the tavern. He told me he was working with powerful people – offered to take me to them and that together we could overthrow Jafar and take back my kingdom. . ."

Almost protectively, Cyrus cocked a brow and crossed his arms. "And what would elicit this man to tell a young girl such damning details?"

Jasmine felt her cheeks color and that nasty twinge of guilt came back. "We umm – used to court for a very short time. And . . . he kissed me last night. He told me he loved me still and wanted to marry me." Ewe, the reminder was almost as repulsive as the actual kiss.

"I see. Well, I don't know this _Aladdin_, but any man who pines after another man's wife isn't worth his salt." Such a stentorian grumble made Jasmine smile, which Cyrus returned and he opened his arms to embrace her. "Ah my child, Jafar will be overjoyed to see you again."

_Bah! Right. And djinns and fairies will resurface from their hidden dwellings and come to grant world peace, prosperity, and infinite love to everyone!_

She must've worn a smug grin as she joked inwardly, for Cyrus pulled a sideways frown. "Your majesty," Came a tone of clear reprimand, "Allow me to speak freely on this issue?"

It didn't look like she had much choice in the matter.

"That man – as twisted as he can be – _needs_ you in his life."

"Jafar needed a marriage for validity among our people. Nothing more Cyrus."

"At first, possibly. But as I said, I still see the man beneath the scars; difficult as it is to reach him, he's there. I _have faith _in a promise for a better future for the both of you. You'll see. He needs you Jasmine, for better or worse, Jafar cannot function correctly without you." Cyrus patted his belly and stretched his spine with a vigorous nod as he spoke. He looked like a cuddly, overgrown cat – which, conveniently watered down his harsh reproving tone.

Cyrus went on, "Jasmine, if you want to leave you still can – although I don't condone it. But it would be better to go now when Jafar thinks you've never returned, then to show up at his feet only to give false hope."

"I understand," Jasmine agreed quietly and meant it.

A sketch of a map was handed to her with scribbles that were meant to be mountains and a path that led between two large triangles. Forty paces left from the old dead tree and the entrance was along the right wall.

He wasn't exactly a skilled artisan, but Jasmine could make it out well enough. Cyrus walked Jasmine outside to Honey, who had eaten by now and was much more compliant with being lead out and saddled. With some help Jasmine mounted and rewrapped her shawl to keep out the wind.

"The storm isn't over yet, there'll be more soon enough so take caution on the slippery rocks, but make haste as well."

_Got it. Fast but slow._

"And Jasmine, take time to listen to your heart. It has so much to say if only you'd get quiet and give it room to speak." His eyes were watery with red blotches beneath them and Jasmine took his hand in hers with a gentle squeeze. "Were only given this life once – don't miss out on what could be because of fear of the unknown. I know there's been a lot of brokenness, but, if allowed, new life can blossom through the cracks."

They shared a kiss on the cheek with farewell and promised to see each other soon. Then, when all her endeavors were seemingly a success, Jasmine was caught in the rain, lost in the middle of the mountains.

* * *

Jagged rocks and massive boulders made up the slippery, steep path. As the rains pounded, Honey became spooked and refused to step any further; which in turn forced Jasmine to take the path on foot while pulling the stubborn ass along. Jasmine had already slipped twice, scuffed up her knee, lost the map in a stream of mud, and was now wondering aimlessly around a scraggly old tree that had been drawn on the map. She couldn't remember which two giant walls to walk between either – truthfully it was all one large jumble from where she stood in a sea of rain. Besides, even if she found the canyon Jasmine couldn't remember how far into it she had to go before finding the entrance on the left. Or was it the right?

Oh, Allah this was hopeless!

_It's a sign, isn't it? Another sign that I should not be here! Fuck, this goddamn horse! This ridiculous fucking mountaintop! And this godforsaken trip! She belonged In Agrabah!_

Jasmine embraced a moment of petulance – when she'd traveled in yet _another_ circle – to scream into her fist until her lungs gave out. Black ink ran from her eyes as soaked tendrils fell from the bun she'd so carefully crafted, and, to top it off, there was mud seeping into her shoes and forming grit between her toes, making it extremely uncomfortable to walk. As if things couldn't get any worse, a shattering roar of thunder bellowed, sending Honey to rip free of Jasmine's hold and take off straight ahead; ramming Jasmine face down into the mud. Jasmine scraped mud out of her hair and nostrils, trying to catch her breath and not cry. Her faced ached all over, tongue swelling a little from biting down on it, and a dribble of red mixed with dark mud, leaked from her brow bone.

"Great," Jasmine flung a heavy lock of filthy hair over her shoulder, "No, its fine, filthy animal! I enjoy this – it truly made my fucking day." Jasmine gave a hand signal to accentuate the perfection of it all and began marching in the direction Honey took off in.

The rain was falling moderately and helped to wash off some of the gunk from her head, but that was the only good thing about it, (when looking on the plus side of things.) If how shitty she felt was and comparison to her outward appearance, Jafar would surely see the wreck she was in and take pity on her, and pour out an apology of his own.

_True, because Jafar isn't the type to beat a dead horse. He's not a kick-you-when-you're-down sort of man._

"Very funny," Jasmine replied, picking up the pace as the rain began to pour more heavily.

Blessedly, it wasn't long before Jasmine found a shallow covering where Jafar's steed was resting, and there with him, nuzzled up for safety, was her mare Honey. She'd found the entrance to the cave.

* * *

The natural underground spring was a godsend. The crisp, clean waters were constantly warm; it's stagnant waters heated by a dormant volcano beneath the mountain's core. There were massive crystals that lined the pool and hung from the shallow ceiling, their light a constant blue and green glow which illuminated the entire room. Allah, how he'd missed this place.

These waters were said to have mystical powers, that could heal the wounded and restore life itself. If only it could heal the places of supernatural darkness, undo the painful misery of his life. No. There was no escape for him and Jafar accepted his fate long ago. Jafar would settle for simply swimming in the refuge the waters provided.

The waves created from each stroke rolled fluidly over the sculpt of his shoulders. Spreading against his worn hands and face in rhythmic currents as he dove under water. He'd stay submerged forever if he could, hidden from the world, where grace allowed him to feel, think, breathe. Only here, in the dwelling of the caves, could Jafar find the same gifts everyone else took for granted.

Jafar swam to the far side of the stagnant pool then took another breath and drifted underwater to sit at the bottom of the deep quarry; all consumed by the weight of divine waters Jafar was allowed to forget the outside world. Nothing and no one else mattered now. Here, he found his rest and thought to fade away; sought the ability to take on the water's framework and absolve into pure nothingness.

Then he heard someone call him from above and his eyes shot open. He was losing his sanity! Even after she'd left him Jasmine's grip was so strong on his heart that Jafar now began imagining her voice. Curse that viperous woman! Even here in the one place he found solace, Jasmine penetrated his sanctuary and tortured him. Jafar closed his eyes tightly trying to remain hidden beneath the water.

Regrettably it wasn't enough to drown out the voice. The sweet dovelike song was like teeth against steel to Jafar; mocking his foolishness. Then again, and again she called and Jafar pushed off his feet and torpedoed to the surface to confront the ghost of his torment.

"Jafar?"

Jasmine could be heard from the opposite cavern only a few yards away. She was real? She was here? Something lurched in his chest drawing painfully tight against his skin. He wanted to run to her – no he wanted to banish her forever. She _had_ left too many times. Then again, she had come back for him.

Or returned for an entirely sinister reason.

* * *

Jasmine never before had seen something so beautifully crafted as she did upon entering the caves dwellings. The passage wound profoundly into the mountainside with a vast duration of the journey done in blinding darkness. Her hand ran along a smooth wall for guidance into the open cave. The room was no bigger than her own but with vaulted ceilings that reached higher than her own palace did. The walls were bluish grey and glistened with specks of crystals so magnificent they could outshine the stars. It held an omnipresence of warmth and a fragrance of fresh rain water and earth. And the weight of everything sloughed off her shoulders and dissipated into thin air.

That was, until she spotted Jafar's clothing and staff neatly put away in a far left corner.

Slender shoulders rolled forward, chest caving slightly, as Jasmine embraced herself. Further finding little reason to believe this would have a good outcome.

_I can still go – wherever Jafar is he hasn't seen me yet. The storm might be clearing – You could get on a ship. Escape everything and let fate take its course with Jafar – with Agrabah._

"Pathetic," Jasmine exhaled with a roll of the eyes.

No matter his reaction Jasmine needed to face this man; for better or worse. Even if 'worse' was the constant.

From where she stood Jasmine took a quick glance around the room before taking off her wet, dirty shawl and small bag. On the left there was a makeshift bed, although barely large enough for two, appearing comfortable with an abundance of pelt blankets and pillows. To the right was a small pit catering to a burning fire along with shelves that, given their appearance, had been crafted decades ago. On them were assorted cups, dishes, a kettle, jars labeled as spices and tea leaves and at the base of the rickety structure were dusty books of mixed varieties. A rug lay in the middle of the floor, which needed a good beating, as did some bags, which Jasmine recognized to be Jafar's. And straight ahead from where she stood was a tall slender crevice in the wall, plummeting into a depth of darkness Jasmine dared not enter into. If jafar wasn't in the cave it was possible such a dark man dwelled within such an ominous space.

With timid staccato Jasmine called out. "Jafar?"

* * *

He'd paused just before entering the light of the caverns dwelling, lingering deep enough in the shadows of the crevice to go unnoticed for the time being. Jasmine had given up calling out, now deciding to wait in silence – evidently, giving herself permission to snoop in the process.

Jasmine casually dusted off a book, perusing the title before setting it down uninterested, and began taking down the tangled swirls of hair; then off went her shoes to be set near the exit. Even from a distance Jafar could tell Jasmine was ice cold, with a white washed complexion, chapped lips, a blood smear above her brow and dark rings beneath both eyes. She was filthy head to toe in burnt umber that masked the once violet clothed garments.

He'd rarely seen 'her majesty' in such a mess before, but each time whenever Jasmine had appeared less than put together, Jafar still was found gawking at her beautiful features. (Similar to now.) Jasmine had found a small sketch of Cyrus' wife on a round table and smiled endearingly at the parchment. A smile that, little to her knowledge, had captivated the darkest man in Agrabah. Jafar studied the manner in which she gazed upon the crystal ceiling, her eyes surpassing the diamonds beauty. He fawned over the way every smooth curve of her body moved to angelically carry out the simplest of actions. She was bred with confidence and superiority and flawless perfection – and even after all he'd done to assert his power and worth, Jafar still felt like the poor boy in the river without a name, without a purpose, without value, while in her presence.

Despite his loathing, Jasmine had planted seeds somewhere inside him to sprout roots and produce fruit of longingness and compassion. Everything Jasmine was, Jafar longed to be himself - courageous, strong, devoted. She was all these things and she was . . . she was touching his staff!

_Damn wench!_

"_That_ doesn't belong to you," Jafar's stentorian accent echoed from the shadows in slow precision, sending Jasmine to flail about in panic and knock over the serpent rod.

_Shit! _Jasmine panicked cursing under her breath as the staff hit the back of her head then crashed into the unforgiving floor. (Every deity in existence must've been on her side for the staff didn't shatter upon impact.) Jasmine fumbled to pick it up and place it where it was, careful to make sure the angling was just right, then practically jumped two feet away from where it stood.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were watching." Jasmine said, slightly puzzled when she didn't see anyone.

"Well," a disembodied, humorless, breath set the tone for an infamous bite of sarcasm, "Why _should_ you behave if you think no one is watching? Perhaps it is _I_ who should apologize for interrupting the things you do in private. There has been so much _Jasmine_ does when no one is looking. Isn't that right, _princess_? I suppose I should expect nothing less from your character by now and thus renounce any ill thoughts sent your way for each moment you spent committing acts of wrong doing. After all, you didn't know anyone was watching. Prostitution. Thievery. Lying. Treason. Where will it end?"

"Running away from a husband isn't treason." That was a shitty defense and sadly she had none for the other charges against her.

"It is indeed." She could feel each word turn up at the corners of his mouth viciously. "I could tie you to a cart and have your naked body drug through the streets of Agrabah for what you did and not one person would stand at your side in protest."

Fear was a bitch and it snatched her ability to speak articulately. Jasmine thought of several retorts, areas to which she could place blame and call him out on all the wrong he'd done. The evidence was damning against him more than it was against her!

_Still_…

Yes. Still. Be still. Be quiet. They had fought enough already for one lifetime and now was not an opportune moment to place blame. Not to mention it was frightening enough to hear the man speak of torture so freely she didn't need to give further reason to his madness. He sounded like he'd come from the crevice – she called it – and Jasmine crossed her arms and cocked her hips, pretending to see through at him.

_Fucks sake can she see me?_ She didn't say anything more but kept watching where he stood with such intensity Jafar began stepping backwards. He was pathetic but highly under dressed for her company. Besides, if she stayed much longer he couldn't be sure which side of him would burst with emotion – he'd either embrace her and plead forgiveness or smack her senseless for ever leaving. Nonetheless, he wasn't yet equipped to face the consequence of either outcome and barked at her to get out.

Jasmine laughed nervously, "Get out? But I - I just got here."

When Jafar didn't respond she became more adamant.

"Do you have any idea what I went through today to get back to you?"

Nothing but the chill of rejection.

Jasmine looked right and left, rubbing the backs of her arms. "Jafar, it's pouring rain – I'm exhausted, I mean look at me! Please try and understand."

"Ha," he coughed and Jasmine wrinkled her face at the faceless man.

So, he wanted to make snide remarks and sulk in the shadows? Fine. She knew how to get him to talk.

"You're right." Jasmine practically chimed, throwing up her hands. "I was wrong, I made a mistake. But _you_ admit that every single moment spent in my palace has been full of wrong doing on your end. You know as well as I that my father made the biggest mistake of his life when he believed a man like you could be worthy of anything good. That includes _me_."

When Jasmine tossed her stringy hair, and turned on her heel, Jafar whirled her back around to bellow in her face.

"How dare you disrespect me!?" Spittle decorated her parted lips, though Jasmine didn't move to wipe it away. "I have proven my worth a hundred times over! I am now and forever will be your king! I won! I defeated my fate! I deserve everything I have! What makes you think you're better than me? . . . Answer me, Jasmine!"

She couldn't even pretend to have heard a thing he'd said.

There was no turban on his head, no shoes, no shirt, _nothing_ except some damp silk pants that were clinging generously to the shape of his manhood; it's generous shape locking with jasmines eyes for several brazen seconds. Her inconspicuous concentration with his crotch had left Jasmine so engrossed with analyzation, that even when Jafar had cleared his throat – _and blushed_ – Jasmine didn't notice.

But could anyone blame a girl for ogling!? By Allah! Firstly, and most importantly, Jafar had hair! A fucking shit load of thick onyx hair shellacked back in place, say for the few dangling strands above those large deep eyes, and at the temple, a silver touch of color that made Jasmine's belly clench and pool with warmth. Glossed eyes followed its length, which rested above well sculpted shoulders, and again, Jasmine became entranced by his beauty.

His torso had been forbidden fruit the entirety of their union and now – Allah help her – now she anticipated the taste of such a ripe, exquisite delicacy. Jasmine could never get enough! Those muscles strong, sinewy, flexed; the cape between his neck and shoulders, oh god almighty! His broad chest and swollen biceps! It was a mind fuck to behold him in all his glory. Every swell of breath in his lungs kept her attention fixed; the orange hue of the fire picking out glittering specks of water on cinnamon skin. Bronze skin that lead all the way down, guided by the v-cut tendons beneath his belly; dipping lower, beneath the cloth, pulling Jasmines mind to climb beneath the fabric, and swallow the bulge between his legs.

"_Jasmine_?"

"One minute." She murmured and his eyes shot up hoisting thick brows into his hairline. Jafar cupped both hands in front and lengthened his spine to address her as seductively as possible. "Yes, my dear. Get an eyeful first then let me know if you need any help _finishing."_

His smirk reached his eyes and Jasmine snapped to attention with an inward cringe that heated her entire face.

"For a woman who claims to be 'repulsed by the beast', sure has a lustful look about her when in his presence." Jafar's sarcastic droll was exuberant. "Couldn't keep away for more than a night, hmm? Had to have it your way, one last time."

Mockingly Jafar stroke beneath her chin and Jasmine smacked his hand away.

"Please – you've looked at me like that a hundred times over." Not that she minded. "You should keep narcissism to a minimum. Doesn't bode well for you."

"Why are you here?" Jafar bit, working his jaw.

Jasmine adjusted the defensive banter to come across sincere. "It's where I need to be."

"Not anymore it isn't."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I already told you to get out. You're no longer a welcome sight."

Jasmine scoffed batting her eyes disbelievingly. "You're joking?"

He was not. "Stay with Cyrus tonight. In the morning I'll send for the Royal guard to escort you home. Once there, get your belongings from the palace, then you and your father will be put on a ship and sent out of the country."

Her mouth twisted down. "You're _serious_?"

There was another deadpanned pause and Jasmine reluctantly filled it with nervous laughing, scoffing, rolling her eyes, shuffling her feet and ultimately pacing.

"So, let me get this straight? You force me into marriage? Torture the hell out of me and make me as miserable as possible so that I run away. Then when I decide to suck it up and do the right thing and come back, you're actually telling, no no, _commanding_ that I leave _you_ forever?"

Aptly Jafar leaned an ear forward, "I'm sorry was there some confusion in there?" Then sneered crookedly giving a wink. (Which, albeit rude, nearly blew Jasmine into an erotic frenzy.)

"_Jafar_," his name was an exasperated whine as she took the liberty to plop down at the edge of the bed. "I don't _want _to be here, and in fact I have _countless _reasons to be anywhere else. But this is where I belong – I know that now. You can be pissed off all you want, and punish me however you see fit, but no. You can't make me leave. I won't allow it."

"Is that a challenge, _girl_?"

"I _wasn't_ challenging you." _Allah almighty! "_. . . look, I mainly returned because I needed to warn you about the Forty Thieves."

For the first time since she arrived Jafar's expression showed one of slight interest; though the look of disdain didn't vanish entirely.

"I found a tavern last night in the middle of nowhere. While I was there I had a _visitor_," she tiptoed around that fact careful not to screw it up. "Anyway, it was a member of the gang that came through Agrabah. He went on about how they did what they did, and said they were coming back to Agrabah to finish the job and take over. That they have a source so powerful even you can't defeat it."

Carefully Jafar listened adding a couple questions here and there and Jasmine got the sense he knew she was hiding something.

"I don't know – he was just talking to me."

"Why _you_? Why share all this with some woman, when it could destroy their plots against me?" One brow cocked and the other lowered heavily as Jafar squinted cynically.

It was getting hard to breathe.

_"_Who was it Jasmine?"

She couldn't meet his eyes.

"**_Who_**_ Jasmine?_"

She whispered Aladdin's name and from her peripherals saw Jafar take a step back.

"What else?"

The truth was as putrid as bile but she didn't want to lie anymore.

"We kissed."

"_You kissed_ him?" Jafar repeated like a wounded viper, "What else?"

Looking at the rug beneath her dirty toes, Jasmine dug her grip into the side of the bed for support.

"Aladdin told me he loves me; that he wants to marry me and asked me to join the Thieves in overthrowing you."

"_That fucking rat_!" Jafar hissed landing at her feet with a raised back hand.

Jasmine flinched covering her face, "Nothing happened! I didn't betray you I swear!"

The blow never came and when she felt safe to look at Jafar he was the one now pacing, running a hand over his thick hair and down the contours of his hardened face.

"Haven't betrayed me." He echoed first to himself, then her. "Haven't betrayed me? Jasmine you have done _everything_ to betray me!"

Jasmine sprang off the bed in protest. "I've betrayed you!? Trust me pal, betrayal is not a something you are authorized to condemn. This is about Aladdin, isn't it? About your _jealousy_!"

Heavy eyes flashed at the accusation and powerful fists formed at his sides, veins bulging from his neck and biceps. "Jealous? You think I'm **_jealous_**!? You vain, small, woman! You may have led their army right to me and you think I am concerned with _jealousy _regarding your attraction to sleazy rats!?"

She never felt so small minded in her life. No wait – that was a lie. Every moment since she could remember Jafar always had the dexterity to undo her confidence and reduce her to rubble. Only now she couldn't punish him during those moments of humility.

Jafar was right of course, there were far more pressing matters at hand; but damnit she couldn't let this go just yet. (She knew for a fact no one had followed her, Aladdin was clever but not when it came to her.) Jasmine strode over just before he could walk away and pushed on his shoulder, too worked up to keen over the feel of his skin.

"Hey! You're telling me that none of that matters? That another man who proposed to your wife doesn't upset you in he _slightest_?"

He leaned in baring large teeth. "You're not wanted anymore so what should any of it matter to me!" Jafar shouted, "I am sending you and that twat of a father away and that is final! My word is law!"

"Fucking _liar!_" Jasmine jeered humorlessly with a shriek. "You expect me to believe that after everything you did – the scandal with the fake princess on the balcony that day, the lengths you went through to ensure you married _me_ meant _nothing _to you? That all the years you've known me – after watching me grow up, being a part of my life, of my family, that my worth to you is so _insignificant _that you can throw me out just like that?" Her fingers snapped in his unblinking face.

"I've done far worse to people far more important to me." His outwardly coldness was calculating, but within Jafar was trembling with guilt when Jasmine's face twisted in pain.

He was so busy trying to remain impassive he didn't see the smack coming.

"How can you say that when you took everything from me! You became a part of me! Even if it disgusts me and I hate it, you have become the center of my world!" It was excruciatingly embarrassing to be left this vulnerable, but what else did she have to lose? "I refused to run away with Aladdin for two very simple reasons. I didn't want to abandon my city to the hands of thugs like the ones Aladdin had turned into. And secondly, I had this sick gnawing at my stomach from being apart from you!" She was crying again and in her anger Jasmine shoved Jafar's chest. "All I wanted was for you to burst through that tavern, pull me away from that jerk, and take me home with you. To protect me and care for me because that's _your job_! As my _husband_ and my Sultan, you should protect me but instead you _punish_ me! And push me away and refuse to give me room to love you!"

Jafar rocked back a little on his heels finding it hard to swallow. _Protect? Care for? **Love?**_

There was no room for that in his life; which meant there was no longer room for Jasmine. No good could manifest from what she was asking and Jafar turned from forbidden emotion to facts.

"_That_, is precisely the reason I've grown weary of your company. Myself and my City need only a _reliable_ Sultana. Not _this," _he gestured with a long condemning hand, "_weak_, emotional mess of a child." Stepping in, he hissed further insult, "You're just like your _father. _A _pathetic _excuse for a leader and I want you out of my sight,_" _then pushed past towards the bed where his clothing laid.

She was _not _weak! Wanting something good, someone to love you wasn't weakness! She refused to accept that or the way he talked about her father. What the hell did he know anyway about love? You didn't always find it right away, but everyone deserved to feel it. Just once!

Some tears splattered soundlessly on the Persian rug as Jasmine spun around to follow him again; then covered her mouth with astonished horror.

Jafar's bare back, was _coated_ in deep, disfigured, devastating scars from the tops of his shoulder blades all the way down to the base of his torso. Every inch, every space that could be filled, was. In some areas it appeared the assaulter doubled up, slicing on top of old wounds when there'd been no where else to cut. Or whip. Or flay. Or beat.


	26. Chapter 26: Anomaly Part 2

"_Who_ did this to you?" Jasmine repeated when Jafar didn't answer.

Jafar had simply frozen in place, stiffly holding himself tall for several unresponsive moments before exacting the same emotionless command as before.

"I've already released you from the prison of my company; you owe me nothing anymore. Are no longer condemned to be caged with a _beast_. Now, _get out _and have your freedom– while I still allow you to do so."

Once again, she was being told what to do! Not being given a choice meant she was still captive; who was he to decide the course of her life anyway? _Again. _Jasmine was more than capable of making choices for herself – including the choice not to back down.

Cyrus had said Jafar led a terrible life because of his mother. As his wife, did she not have a right to know _just _how damaged her husband was? The source of his crippled heart? Having been recently robbed of so much, Jasmine felt entitled to know the reason behind it all.

Jasmine pulled a cringing face, knowing this would only anger him. "Was it your mother?"

Jafar had just begun slipping an arm through one sleeve when the mention of that vile creature caught him off-guard, and it slid back off on the bed.

His jaw worked in a tight circle. "_Excuse me_?"

"I asked if your mother -,"

"Don't you _ever_ mention that _bitch_ to me!" He shouted turning back around to find Jasmine had been inching her way up to him.

Doe eyes shifted innocently with worry, and her chapped bottom lip was now moist and pink from sucking on it nervously. She was going to cry. _Good_! He stepped forwarder; she stepped back. Then again, for each growling inquiry, he moved in.

"What do you know about her? About any of it? Were you talking to somebody about me? To Cyrus? What did he tell you?"

"N-Nothing," Jasmine bumped into a petite round table, knocking some of its knick-knacks onto the floor. "It was just a guess."

"What is it with you and shoving your nose where it doesn't belong? You're a thorn in my side, woman and your lies are grinding my last nerve."

Jasmine circled around the table to try an separate herself, but Jafar effortlessly tossed it aside and drew deathly close.

Even on the precipice of a possible beating, Jasmine continued to hope to fix him. Take him out of the gloom of hopelessness and show him the man she believed he could still be. Cyrus said everything happened as it should, but she wasn't ready to believe that. Nothing so cruel should happen to a child; it altered the man he could've been, creating _this _instead. How could that have been nature's desired outcome?

The orange flickering fire illuminated Jafar's prominent brow and animated his snarling mouth.

"_Speak!"_

Jasmine flinched unintentionally, then lost her footing. Everything happened so quickly it was a miracle she didn't land in the fire pit.

"_Oh!_"

Jafar had shot an arm behind her back and pulled her close to his chest to keep her from falling. Their eyes locked, her cold chest pressed against his warm wet one and the tips of her fingers rested against his strong clavicle.

When Jafar still hadn't let go, Jasmine licked her lips and gulped with an unsteady inhale. They were almost, _hugging_? It was sort of an embrace, even if it was created out of necessity to keep her clumsy ass from catching fire.

_He could've let you fall in. More than likely would've pushed you before. Progress?_

It was a thin line and before Jasmine could read further into it, Jafar pulled away with a questioning scowl. It was too humiliating to admit she'd been conjuring gushy sentiments while in his arms and so Jasmine brought the topic back around.

"Cyrus did mention your mother, that's why I asked. But he didn't tell me anything in detail. I just know that the woman who raised you . . . _hurt_ you." She shrugged, crossing an arm to smooth her shoulder. "So, I wondered if those, if your scars, were _just_ from?"

_Or if my mother added any herself? Which is a possibility I'm not sure I want to embrace just yet._

The Sultan exhaled powerfully then gave a brisk nod before speaking with thick unreadable emotion. "Alright, you got what you came here for, I assume. Said your peace, _warned_ me about an issue I already was fully well aware of. And now you've seen the monster in all its glory. I believe its safe to say the little princess has had more adventure than she can handle for one day. Mm?" He looked her over and scoffed, " Go back to Cyrus'. I will have you sent for by morning."

With that he marched back to the bed, preying fervently that she would just leave! Jafar threw on a black collarless shirt that hung loosely around his midsection and thought to change his damp pants, but decided to wait 'til she'd gone. He was working to wind up the cloth of his turban when he caught his breath at the touch of Jasmine's hands slipping around his waist. The swell of her breasts molding against his back as she pulled into him from behind and spread the flat of her hand over his chest and stomach. Her head rested just beneath his shoulder blade and Jasmine lightly squeezed.

His eyes rolled heavenward as if the crystals in the ceiling could offer him the wisdom and patience it took to deal with this woman.

"Stop hiding from me," came the warm breeze against the back of his neck as Jasmine stood on her toes and tingling gooseflesh cascaded down his spine. "Stop pushing me away."

That's precisely what he should have done. Instead the man found himself putty in her hands as she slid them up inside his shirt to settle on his flesh. Jasmine's palms were flat, fingers sprawled, as she explored his body with a touch so sensational it nearly brought him to his knees.

"Will you still pretend you don't want me?" she mewled softly as Jafar's breath turned shallow. "Because I only want you. Let me see you, sweetie. Please let me in."

Fingers trailed the front of his abdomen and up over his pecs. Jasmine closed her eyes, envisioning what her hands felt – his skin was soft, decadent. His chest, endowed with lean muscles that fit the shallow palm of her hand, rose and fell with steady breaths. His nipples were small, dark, hard; Jasmine took both between her fingers and lightly pinched causing Jafar to groan a sensually malevolent sound that made her toes curl. Lower and lower she explored, tracing the contours of muscle with featherlike grace, following the sweet trail which led _there_. Jasmine cusped the outside of his groined, gently at first, then more fervently.

Jafar was hardening, thick with riveting heat beneath her hands, and hated himself for it. What would it take to rid himself of her!? He'd done everything in his power to allow her a way out – fucking hell, she felt so good_!_

"Take it off," Jasmine instructed already in the process of lifting the cloth from his body and Jafar complied almost immediately – which was almost as shocking as her initiative – and once again his skin was exposed.

Jafar could feel her breath hitch as her mouth fell on his back. Both her hands simultaneously working his shaft to its full size; Jafar's head lolling back and hands reaching behind to pull her closer. When he was rock hard Jasmine drug manicured nails over the underside of his clothed erection and fondled his large sac. A hissing groan escaped his parted lips and Jasmine smiled victoriously against his skin.

Jasmine dipped her hand beneath the silk and stroked his cock from the base all the way to the tip, firmly tugging and caressing his smooth sex; the sultriness of her control making his cock twitch in her palm and weep pre cum. He was doing it again – becoming caught up in the moment with no reverence for the consequences this would hold.

Jafar rasped through gritted teeth for her to stop. Albeit, if it was within his control he would never have Jasmine stop. Would never live another day without her by his side. There remained, however, a lucid shouting at the back of his mind that shook him free of her enchantment: _In the end, Jasmine will be taken from you, and when that day comes, it shall destroy everything you ever were or ever will be, again._

"Jasmine stop," Jafar repeated with solidity.

But Jasmine didn't listen. Instead, she had begun using one hand to touch his back! She traced each wound with the softest caress, planting kisses over each scar and then he could feel something wet and warm. Her tears! How dare she cry for him!? This burden was his alone to carry and there was no room for her to shove herself where she did not belong!

"God damnit _**stop**_!" Jafar threw her hand from himself and ripped free. "You deceptive, viperous woman! How dare you try and con me? You think your tears mean shit to me? That I would allow your pity for even an instant?"

"Pity?" She choked, "That wasn't pity that was –." Well, what_ was_ that? It couldn't be love because she did not love him yet, so what the hell was she doing to him? Why did she start crying like a damn idiot and fondle his cock?

One thing was for certain though, she did not pity him. Pity wasn't strong enough a word for how she felt when looking at those scars. Heartache, sorrow, grief. The most domineering emotion was injustice. After all, what sort of marriage would they have, had Jafar known even a trace of how it felt to be loved?

"I'm not trying to deceive you," was all Jasmine could muster for a response.

The pits of his eyes shone with a supernatural ire; as if every attempt on her part to make things better was a vile trick into hurting him.

"_No_ – I see what this is! You've come back to do the job yourself. Is that it? You'll slice my throat when I'm asleep, or slip poison into my drink. You've gone ahead of _them_ so you could kill the beast _yourself_!" He shouted at the top of his lungs and Jasmine whimpered with fright. "You think you can defeat me? Get me to let my guard down!? I _forbid it!"_

"Do you even hear how ridiculous you sound?" Her own voice hardened as the tension escalated. "I'm all alone! I told you I didn't take Aladdin's offer! Why do you refuse to let anyone close enough to you?"

"Get out!" He spat, "get out of my sight!"

"You can't keep placing commands on my life! It's _**my**_ life!" she shouted patting her chest as she spoke. "You don't make these decisions for me any more. I know that you're hurting, that the past is full of darkness, but you don't have to stay there."

The corners of his mouth curled and nostrils flared as Jafar sneered contemptuously . "Because you believe I can still give you _love_. Is that it? Wake up from your delusions little rat, because I WILL NEVER GIVE YOU THE SATISFACTION! I will never be weak!"

"Love isn't weakness it's _**strength! And there is nothing you can do or say to make me believe otherwise!**_" Jasmine barked back, lifted on her toes to shout in his face. "The only thing weak and miserable is that frail thing you call a heart!" Jasmine jabbed a finger into his chest, "and that stupid fucking thing in the corner. Your power is a false power and you're too fucking blind to see the difference!"

Jafar had pulled upright and peered mutedly down the end of his nose in rebuttal.

Jasmine bawled her hands into fists to keep them from trembling, but her voice was full of cracks and brittleness. "Are you so ignorant to the truth that you believe the lies of the ones who tormented you? How much power do the dead still have over your life when you refuse to accept anything other than what they gave you?"

"Snatch your tongue girl – you're playing a dangerous game," Jafar warned but it was evident he'd lost the upper hand.

Jasmine resumed her position before him, tilting her head with upturned eyes and a softer approach. "Don't you want _more_, Jafar? To prove them wrong? Show me there is still a part of you that's decent."

"There isn't."

"That's a lie." Jasmine reached for his face and he pulled away, "I've seen another side to you, Jafar. After the fire. With the little girl. And when you caught me in that brothel. You saved me from doing something I never wanted to do."

"And have forced you to do _plenty_ that you never wanted to." Jafar growled.

That was true too. "I didn't say you were perfect or that this would be easy . . . I just want to know that you could _try_ to change."

Jasmine reached for his face again, this time taking his jaw in both hands and pressing into his body with hers. She nuzzled the thick line of his goatee whispering softly for him to let her in. As she said his name it began revealing his soft under belly and he leaned in to her touch.

_Fight it!_ Jafar screamed inwardly.

_I don't want to._

_Fight her Jafar. It's not real. Hate! That's real! So is power! You have it already – smack her, beat her –_

"Why are you doing this to me woman?" He murmured thickly as his hands slid to the small of her back, the top of her hair pressing into his nostrils.

_Damnit, you fucking bastard you're so weak!_

He was weak, repulsively so. There was a war raging on the inside, one that had been there for as long as he could remember. A battle of right and wrong, good and evil – the latter always won out in the end. No matter how hard he had tried to earn affection from his mother, from the people in the streets, who were just as lowly as him, Jafar never found a solitary place of acceptance. And when he'd tried to find it in Sultana and Henrietta it was a false hope that left a massive void – one now filled with decades of hate and resentment.

Jafar opened his eyes when Jasmine kissed his neck in an embrace, and again it was too much for him to handle. "_Why_ are you doing this," it was too good to be trustworthy.

Jasmine pulled away to meet his piercing eyes. "Because I want you to let me in?"

"Let you in?" he unclasped her hands from his back but held onto her wrist. "Let you in? As if you haven't already dug your claws into me deep enough? As if you don't already torture me every fucking second!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Damnit to hell, why did he have to be such a stubborn jack ass? It wasn't as if this was easy for her to do – showing love to the unlovable.

Suddenly, like the flicker of a serpent's tongue Jafar snatched Jasmine by the waist with a fluidity that stole her breath and grabbed her by the neck with the other hand and poured out an overwhelming confession.

"Will you not leave me in peace, woman!? Is it not enough that you have brought this torture upon me – now you ask me to open my heart to you!? You may as well ask me to cut it out and die for your amusement. Haven't you done enough to me? Day by day, crippling the man I've fought to become. Because of you I now have everything to lose! When you're apart from me the very air in my lungs wears thin and the earth and skies lose their color and I am left in the shadows of hell. Nothing else can feed my starving soul except you. And its never enough! Constantly I am found _**craving**_you!" The pad of his thumb skimmed Jasmine's full pouty lip, pulling it gently from her teeth and the sheen of saliva left there made his mouth run dry. It was repulsive but Jafar wanted to breath in her air and drink her life-abounding waters so he could bring his dry bones to life again.

"Every moment of my existence has been nothing but a blackened abyss I cannot escape from. But with you," he whispered hoarsely, "When I see you – when I taste you on my lips I get a glimpse of the end to my misery. And after I've had you, the only thing that keeps me sane anymore is knowing that I get to have you yet again.

. . . _And then you left me_! For the second time! As I always knew you would, as I know you will do in the end and it sickens me! It's appalling to admit that even though I have you I will _never_ _truly_have you!"

His grip we was deepening along her jaw and Jafar shook her angrily.

"You think you're the one whose imprisoned?! That all your life has been entrapped but you know nothing of _prison_! You know nothing of the hells I've faced for if you did you would show mercy on me ad release me from the iron walls you've set around my heart! Even when you escape it is I that can never truly be free! – So yes you torture me! Every fucking day, since you grew into this cunning, glorious woman, you have made me suffer and I have _loathed _you for it! So, no Jasmine, I will not open myself up to you, I will never allow you any deeper inside because I won't survive the ruin that is sure to follow."

When finally he released her Jasmine found herself in a dazed state of elated confusion. It was an overload of information to process. Jafar accused her of so much, said he loathed her and at the same time did he not also say he _craved_ her? Looked forward to the moments he got to be with her? Did he profess a love for her or was it something twisted, and lustful? Could you hate and desire someone at the same time and have it be called genuine love?

Her thoughts ran wild with possibilities and before she could come to a definitive conclusion Jasmine had pounced on Jafar; tossed her arms over his neck and pulled him into a deep prolonged kiss. His eyes shot open and he tried to pull back but she pressed deeper into him still, spreading his mouth open with hers and whimpering with delight at the smooth caramelized feel of theirs tongue sliding together. Jasmine could sense his defenses rising and falling with waves of concern, but his hesitation only made her want this more. Of course it was terrifying, there was so much damage to be fixed, wounds to be healed on both sides; but the fact that Jafar finally understood that, acknowledged the fear she felt, made him more human than ever. And if he was human he could learn to love and if he could love . . .

"Jasmine." Jafar tried to end it but to no avail, Jasmine had locked him in and refused his release. "Mm, sweetheart." Jasmine pulled his bottom lip between her teeth to silence him, then drug her nails over his scalp and tugged on his hair, and he could fight against his desires no longer.

Jafar licked the roof of her mouth, burying his tongue deep inside her throat in heated angst, cradling the back of her head and gripping the meat of her backside. The swell of his arousal dug uncomfortably against her belly and she let out a contended noise, slipping a hand between them to stroke his erection.

He pulled on her hair, suckled at the creaminess of her neck and nipped along the taut flesh of her clavicle, pushing down the shoulders of her dirtied garments until her chest was bare, decorated with gooseflesh and petite hardened nipples. He took one between his teeth and gently bit down finding it sensitive by her elated reaction. Jasmine jerked, shoving her breasts forward and he grinned, flicking his tongue over the peak before biting again.

"My beautiful wife," He whispered trailing the tip of his tongue over her chest back up to the shell of her ear, "My most precious Queen."

"Yes," Jasmine closed her eyes elevated by his voice.

"Never leave me again."

It sent electricity over her shoulders and down across her belly as he spoke such lovely things to her. He called her Valued, Adored, and Cherished, undressing her inch by inch as each name poured over her euphonically. Jafar doused her slender curves in soft thankful kisses from her neck, breasts, down over her belly and at the top of her thighs until he'd uncovered her entirely.

Fully naked before him Jasmine – who normally would've felt vulnerable – now felt empowered. She was the one he wanted, the one who could tame the beast when no other could. She held a certain immunity against his rage, and the way he looked at her, the way he was coming undone, she believed everything he had said meant he was falling in love with her.

"Take me to bed," she mewled through wet frantic kisses and dug her fingers into the seam of his pants. "I need you –"

"Where do you need me my Queen?"

Jasmine coyly smiled, gripped the back of his shoulders, wrapped a thigh around his waist and ground her naked sex against his clothed erection. Rolling her body slow, deliberate, like an undulating snake until she was trembling with need.

"Inside of me," she nibbled the shell of his ear, practically fucking him where they stood. "My most Powerful, Valued, Sexy King."

Jafar growled appreciation, sinking his teeth into her neck as he wrapped her in his arms and spread her on the bed. The thickness of his shaft pressed between her legs as he laid on top of her and she opened for him. He basked in the warmth of Jasmine's skin against his and berated himself for not doing this sooner. He'd been so afraid for her to see his ugliness, that the scars would further prove he didn't belong with her. But none of those insecurities mattered as the soft warmth of her breasts molded against his rigid muscles. They perfectly contrasted the other, soft curves and hard lines, light and dark, beauty and ugliness. She was heaven and he was the devil himself, but fuck it felt so right when they came together like this.

Their fingers interlaced as he lifted her arms up beneath the pillows, her firm breasts lifting vulnerably to his wicked tongue. Jasmine gasped his name softly, wrapped a thigh around his waist and rolled up against his cock to entice him.

"Take it off already – I want it." Jasmine breathed half panting.

"Mm, so eager pussy cat."

"_Yes!_"

She needed it now. To be fucked senseless before she found any fault in their decision to do this. Everything he said _had_ touched her heart, but there was so many other things he'd said and done that would take time to heal. There was countless hurt and distrust with this man, yet his approval made her feel so good. Was it right to want his affection? To allow him to do this to her while the man she used to love was caught up in a terrible gang. While her friends from the brothel were still missing and her father was still ill in Agrabah. What about everyone she should be worried about? Including herself. Why then had Jafar suddenly taken precedence. Was Jafar worth saving, did he deserve her forgiveness and energy when there were so many others she should be focusing on right now?

It would be so easy to overthink this and back down and, though she hated it, Jasmine felt like running away again.

"Look at me dear," Jafar turned her face back to him, "Let me in Jasmine." His voice was oddly soft, almost mockingly and it infuriated her more.

Why should she let him in?

Jasmine didn't mean to send conflicting messages but it was still too raw – everything wrong that'd been done to her and her family, the revealed pasts, his distorted confession. Though she sought to pull Jafar out of the depths of wickedness her own heart was still tenderly broken; and how he had looked at her just then was like a slap in the face. He didn't have the right to her heart just yet. All she could handle right then was in the physical realm.

"Let me into your heart Jasmine – mm?" Jafar tightened his grip on her cheeks and she glared at him. "No? It's not as easy as it sounds, is it my dear? There's too much pain – too much ugliness to just accept that there can be anything else."

She thought he was mocking her for a moment and almost went to bite his hand, but then he softened, eyes becoming sincere, deep, penetrating.

"Now you understand how I feel – the hell of not knowing which is real and which will leave you broken with even less than what you started with. I'm an evil man Jasmine – you can't change that."

She could try.

"But I'll change you," he said as if reading into her, "My darkness is so thick it can spread over you, darken your soul too, if you're not careful."

Jafar frowned concernedly when a tear rolled form her right eye and he smoothed it away with the pad of his thumb.

"You can still leave me. You're no longer my prisoner." It wasn't real if she was forced to be his. Jafar desired more than her body, he wanted all of her for himself. This way, if she left now, he could move on and accept what he always knew would happen. And if she didn't leave, maybe he could truly have everything he ever wanted.

"No," she leaned off the bed to snatch his mouth, "I want you. I'm afraid," she admitted brushing hair from his eye, "But I know I want this. I want to be with you, Jafar."

Her words ran like warm oil over his heart and Jafar smiled crookedly down at her; causing heat to color the entirety of her cold ashen skin.

"That's all I needed."

Jafar grabbed her by the hips, yanked Jasmine to his lap, then slid both hands over her naked thighs and buttocks, memorizing the hourglass of her body, the deep dip of her abdomen, the large swell of her breasts.

"You're stunning my sweet. Breathtakingly perfect."

Her breath became unsteady as she worried her lip with hooded eyes. She was a goddess, sweet like decadent honey that poured over his hands and he wanted to savor every drop. Jafar took her breasts in each hand, massaging their supple mass, and Jasmine arched into his skillful touch, closing her eyes as she offered herself to him freely. Smirking at her beautiful surrender Jafar leaned down and took one breast in his mouth, fitting as much of her into his mouth as he could until her breast was blushed in color and wonderfully swollen. Jafar repeated it on the other breast then sat back on his knees to analyze his Queen.

The color of her skin had resumed a more normal cinnamon glow. But her hair and face were still dirty and streaked with dirt – and though she was always lovely, Jasmine deserved to feel and look like the Queen she was. With a wave of his hand her hair has been cleaned and brushed out in large thick waves, and her makeup was restored and the streaks of grime and small cuts were gone, leaving behind glowing perfect skin. And on top of her head was a thin golden crown with diamonds and blue sapphires.

"There," he smiled handsomely at her own beaming grin, "There's _my_ Sultana."

Jafar grabbed the arch of her graceful foot next, and raised it to his chest; caressing it from the top of her pointed toes, over her ankle and along the curve of her calf. She never knew such a powerful, ruthless man, could be capable of such tenderness and it drove her half wild as he bathed her skin with intent, soft kisses that sent tingles to travel up her thigh and settle in _there_.

"Your mouth feels so good." She breathed, then practically whined as he left her.

The tiny moan of discontent made him smirk and as Jafar stood at the end of the bed, ensuring she was watching, he dug both thumbs into the silk waistband and slowly drug the fabric down over the length of his shaft, teasing Jasmine with every inch until it slipped over the head causing his cock to spring forward as the rest of the fabric fell around his ankles. He saw her breath hitch at the sight of him, and to add to her arousal he ran both hands through his thick hair, his strong body flexing in the process, and it made her squirm, which in turn caused Jafar to chuckle attractively.

Through hooded, lustful eyes, Jasmine winked and crooked her finger, beckoning him over, and he smirked, obeying his queen and climbing between her thighs. Jafar pressed Jasmine's thighs to the mattress, her feet sliding along his calves, to reveal a smooth flush of sex. It's pink flesh was already moist and Jafar made a deep satisfied noise.

"You have a beautiful little pussy Jasmine." he crooned, massaging the meat of her thigh and slowly rubbing two thin fingers up and down over her slit and she gave a drawn out, lustful moan.

His eyes briefly fluttered shut, "Do you know what that sound does to me? What you do to me."

Jasmine wriggled, peering up in a sultry haze as she recalled his earlier confession. "I torture you."

"Yes." He breathed heatedly, now pressing the swell of his thumb in concentric circles over her clit. "_Torture_."

Jasmine wriggled anxiously digging little white teeth into her soft luscious lip.

"Should I punish you for that?"

Jasmine nodded eagerly, rolling her hips up, begging with her body for him to enter her, then sharply inhaled as Jafar forced her down; the heel of his hand pinning both knees to keep her still as he gave a wickedly delicious grin.

With Jasmine immobile, Jafar positioned the length of his shaft to press between her soft folds. Then gradually, with oh so fucking controlled pace, Jafar rocked his hips forward, steadily gliding the heavy weight of his shaft forward, then back, continually spreading Jasmine's slick folds until she was quivering. Glistening pink contrasted wantonly with Jafar's dark skin as his large swollen head drove through the layers of her cunt, budding with her clit over and over.

Jasmine tried to roll her hips so he'd slip inside her, but failed as Jafar painfully tightened his grip sending a sharp sensation to catch in the back of her throat.

"Be a good girl Jasmine," came an assertive warning, "That's it, pussy cat. Play by my rules - my sensational little treat."

His voice was raspy through labored breaths as he watched her. Every elicit reaction: the pinched expression and parted lips as she mewled, her back arching off the bed as she dug toes into the mattress and gathered the blanket between her fingers. It was painful to resist entering her, to keep from plunging his dick into her. But he remained in control, titillating her sensitive cunt.

"Jasmine – open your eyes," Jafar stopped, taking himself in hand for her to see, and began stroking himself, smearing the glistening sheen of her arousal over the full length of his cock.

A thin web of moisture was revealed as he spread apart his fingers. "Do you see that my dear – this delicious creation, all of it made for me."

A small noise caught in her throat and more so because he had stopped when she was so close to coming.

"Is it enough, princess?"

_No! It would never be enough!_

"Shall I put an end to your suffering?"

_Fuck, yes! Yes! Yes! _She screamed inwardly and thanked Allah that Jafar was so adept to reading her mind.

His cock spread perfectly between her lips once more this time with forceful unforgiving thrusts, sending Jasmine plummeting once more into dizzying bliss. Her clit was hardening, all the blood pulling at her center, closer and closer. Her breasts were bouncing, stomach drawing taut as she arched and a glimmer of sweat broke out on her brow.

Jafar watched himself fuck her sponge-like lips and the way they sandwiched his thick veiny cock. It glided rapidly over her cunt; the dark plum tip flicking Jasmine's clit over and over, until it sent her over the edge into a beautiful shrieking cry. A sticky warm fluid secreted against his sex making him glide faster with a squelching resonance and he came to an abrupt halt to keep from spilling over.

_Perfection_. "Good girl," he said ruggedly, "very good girl."

Before Jasmine came off her high Jafar announced they were far from finished by slipping two long fingers inside of her as he kissed, and sucked on her neck and breasts. She was moaning his name, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and rocking into the palm of his hand as he made a beckoning motion against her g-spot. And just when Jasmine was ready to cum again, Jafar pulled out, leaving her on the edge once more.

"Agh, you _fucking_ bastard!" Jasmine cried out, on the verge of tears and covered her face; Jafar responding with a low rumbling laugh.

The weight in front of her shifted and when she looked down Jafar was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed. He pulled her hips to the very edge and Jasmine squirmed anxiously as he dipped down and inhaled her scent with a vicious smile.

"Your _cunt_," He uttered, easing her sex apart with his fingers, "is simply mouthwatering."

_Holy hell –_ Jasmine became motionless.

"When I told you I crave the taste of you, I don't believe you fully understood what I meant." Jafar played languidly with his food, watching her sex open up as he ran two fingers allng the inseam of her pussy. "I'm a starving snake, Jasmine – do you know what happens when a ravenous predator finds its prey?" Jafar's eyes locked onto hers with a terrifying hunger.

She was breathless – speechless!

"He devours her."

"_Ahh_!"

Light burst behind Jasmine's eyes funneling out her surroundings as Jafar's tongue swept over her sex – swirling along the smooth outer lips then dipping into that most sensitive crevice. The flat of his tongue spread her quavering slit, lapping along the entirety of her cunt then flicking the small pearl at her apex; using lambent swirls to elevate Jasmine to a state of unknown euphoria. An experience so transcendently licentious, she was overcome with a burning white fire that devoured her entire being. Jafar's serpent like tongue was sculpting her like soft clay. Jasmine cried out in an unending loop; the sensation was too much to handle yet somehow it left her with an aching unquenched thirst for more.

He was doused with the taste of her and began flicking his tongue inside her walls, scooping along the inside of ribbed flesh with a burst of intoxicating heat that flooded his senses. Jafar buried his face deeper, nose and chin smothered as he feasted on her. Her body began writhing as she rode his mouth, her loud cries now coming in choking gasps. It was almost enough to leave him sated, but he needed more – wanted to make her squirt like a spring into his mouth. Jafar shoved three fingers deep into her sex and suckled relentlessly as he drank from her clit. He gorged himself on her cunt as if it were a ripe, dripping peach, never allowing a drop of nectar to escape his lips.

Jasmine screamed unintelligently and dug her nails into his scalp, the pain stinging wonderfulmy. Jasmine pressed him deeper, thighs clamping on his ears to hold him under until he couldn't breathe and he fucking worshiped every second of it!

A flood of juices squirted in a euphoric taste of honey and salt as she came. He became lightheadedly drunk on the taste of his woman and the sweet unique cream of her orgasm. It was like sun drops on his tongue, bursting with light and he lapped every drop his goddess produced then nuzzled her with his nose as her legs fell weakly apart.

Jasmine lazily eyed Jafar as he stood, running a hand over his beard to swipe his mouth clean with a most satisfied look of victory. Jasmine smiled full of content.

The Queen beckoned him to climb on top of her and pulled Jafar into a messy kiss, the taste of her lingering on the back of his tongue. The scent of her sex was embedded in his twisted beard, and though it was different, Jasmine found it intoxicating on him. And a strange sense of possession came over her.

_He's mine and mine alone._

"I love when you kiss me," Jasmine smiled then playfully kissed the tip of his nose.

Jafar laughed with the most beautiful smile. "I enjoy it too."

She said _love_, not enjoy. But she'd accept his unacceptance of that word. (For now). 'Til then, Jasmine wanted to stay focused on one thing only. Her hand wrapped around Jafar's shaft, finding it had slightly softened, and joyously, Jasmine starting jerking him. Tugging the thick swell of muscle until it was rock hard and bulging out of her hand. Jasmine licked her lips anxiously and positioned him at her entrance, then slid her hands over Jafar's tight bum and pulled him down inside.

As he sank deep within, that intense electrifying clench in her stomach enacted and she lost her breath. Jafar's head rolled back with a gasp as slick, velvety walls eased him inside, tightly clutching the familiar massive girth. It wouldn't be long before he found release.

He had tried to allow Jasmine to take the lead, to be slow and make it last as long as possible. But he'd quickly lost control, plunging relentlessly to the hilt so she contorted, screaming his name incoherently as she keened. Jasmine pulled him closer, deeper, meeting him thrust for thrust, interspersing wet frantic kisses and moaning into each other's mouths. He needed to be deeper still! To be submerged in this woman and completely lose himself.

Jafar sat back on his knees and lifted Jasmine's pelvis off the bed. Instantly Jasmine felt the added depth from this angle and Jafar bottomed out at her cervix; every thrust full of angst and passion that blew her fucking mind. White noise accumulated in her ears and her throat became raw from screaming but she couldn't care less.

This was the best sex of her life and to add to the experience her husband was godlike in his naked form – the muscles of his neck strong and corded, chest, abs and biceps flexing powerfully as he fucked her. There was a prominent vein that climbed from the base of his shaft up to his lower abdomen and she traced its delicious color with her eyes, finding her limbs immobile and consciousness feigning. But in that moment, in the haze of high ecstasy, one thing remained clear: Jasmine never wanted to spend another moment without this man in her life.

She pulled him down on her needing absolute contact and their bodies grew slick, lubricated from their labor as he drove her higher and higher. Jafar was unraveling, growling animalistic in her ear as he neared completion.

"So – _good – fuck! Jasmine. So, god damn perfect! You're mine. All mine!"_

It was enough to make her come in a breathless wail and Jafar followed after, _hard_.

His cock throbbed, pulsing in spurts as he emptied his seed as deeply as he could; intentionally wanting to fill her to the brim with hot fluid. He was so weak for this woman. Somehow, she had become everything to him. Jasmine defined the man that he was by giving him a reason to hope for more. How now could he ever live without her? It was disgraceful the effect one woman could have on a man's heart. And that discreet debilitating shame started to surface as the heat of their orgasms cooled and Jafar resumed a level head.

Jasmine was beaming with a special glow Jafar had never seen before. With an unfocused distant stare Jasmine kept smiling, tickling the smooth skin of his arms as he hovered above her.

"That was …" Jasmine rolled her body then shivered as if reliving another orgasm, "Mm, it was so –."

"_Perfect. _It was perfect." He added and she nodded in agreement.

Jasmine never felt so at peace, in all her life, as she did in that moment. Jafar gave a small smile, moving the hair from her eyes as he looked down on her. He was so handsome, more than ever before, and she cupped his jaw and leaned up to lovingly kiss his lips. There was a moment when he melted into her touch that Jasmine swore he loved her. That he truly was changing and there was more to this than lust. How could anyone provide such a divine intimacy without love behind it?

When they pulled away Jasmine felt Jafar try and pull out a little, and she quickly wrapped a leg around his waist to keep him inside and diverted his attention with light conversation.

"Where did you get this scar?" Okay, so that wasn't exactly a _light _topic, but it was the quickest thing she could think of to try and steal a few more precious moments.

Jafar raised a brow with a steel look as Jasmine touched his left shoulder.

"That, _woman_, is your handiwork." He droned unimpressed and Jasmine's eyes widened.

"Mine?"

He gave a crisp nod. "The hourglass shard. You remember that night, don't you my dear?"

_The night that changed my life forever? _"Umm . . . Vaguely."

Jafar gave her a look and she batted her eyes empathetically.

"I'm sorry, Jafar."

"Don't be. It was impressive the way you fought for others. Even if you did lose," he sneered and Jasmine clenched her walls around his shaft, forcing the smug look off his face.

"I didn't lose anything, Jafar. If you haven't noticed, I'm quite content and fulfilled." And she was, so long as they could stay like this.

Jafar however, had no intention of allowing the growing sentiment to last and briskly pulled himself off her, and began dressing at the foot of the bed.

_Shit. Well there goes that._

It was happening. The dooming awkwardness, she'd known would come, had, and it took up the entirety of the cavern with its gloomy presence. Jasmine sat up and covered herself, feeling a little like an idiot for thinking he was falling in love with her. When sex was clearly just another way to assert power over her.

"You should eat," He sounded detached and it made her stomach ache. "here."

Jasmine caught a red apple, getting a flashback to when she first met Aladdin – then another flashback of when Jafar had her shackled to the throne and forced her to feed him one. Why did these men keep shoving red fruit into her hand? Irony? A reminder that the past was never actually far away and that she was a dolt of a woman to have ever given herself to either of them?

"Im not hungry," Jasmine firmly set the apple on the bed then crossed her arms and leaned back on the pillows.

"Suit yourself." Jafar hurried to finish off his turban with a red jewel, then threw on a new pair of pants, a black embroidered thobe, and shoes, then took up his staff.

_He's leaving? Sure, scold me for running from my problems, but that's precisely what you're doing now, buddy._

"I'm going to meet with Cyrus. The storm should've let up by now, and I've other business to attend to."

Of course. Jafar always knew what she was thinking – except for when it came to matters of the heart. In that regard he was either clueless or refused to acknowledge it.

"Is it about the Thieves?" Jasmine asked conversationally, doing a decent job of keeping disappointment out of her tone. "Do you think you can track them now?"

Jafar looked uncertain with how much to reveal to Jasmine, as if she were in cahoots with the enemy. "Cyrus has a son, Malachi, who runs with those flea bags."

"Have you talked to him? Have you met him? Is he going to help?"

"I don't know _woman_," he was getting irritable the longer he was forced to remain in her presence. "With or without the brutes help, I will find that camp and exact vengeance."

Jafar started for the exit.

"And if you find them? . . .what if they kill you? Aladdin said they have someone powerful – that nothing can stop them."

"Then I will murder every woman, child, and man in that camp until there is no one left to defeat me and all the rivers in the middle east run red with their blood!"

Jasmine pulled inward with a scowling frown and rolled her eyes, shaking her head disapprovingly.

She could pout all she wanted, Jafar could care less if she judged him. "Now – I'll return by sundown. At the latest it'll be first light tomorrow. When I get back we can discuss what to do with you."

Her head snapped to attention. "What to do with me?!"

"When. I. Get. Back," Jafar pronounced each word as if he were biting into a crisp apple.

After Jasmine remained silent Jafar turned and lifted his staff, coating the entire entrance with a protection spell that illuminated the cavern before dulling into thin air.

"Nothing and no one can get in," he peered darkly over his shoulder at her, "Or _out_."

"I thought I wasn't your prisoner anymore." Jasmine sassed pulling a face.

"It's a fine line, my dear." Came the smooth retort.

Then, Jafar came to the bedside, leaned over and claimed her mouth; their eyes locking onto one another as each refused to cave first.

The inside of her belly tingled, though, rising up to blossom in her chest and she gave in, closing her eyes and reaching for his face to deepen the kiss – which was made even more humiliating by the hum she made. When they parted Jasmine kept her eyes closed and turned her face away.

Jafar's knuckles turned white around the staff at her reaction, and he snatched her jaw in the other hand to force her gaze. Jasmine's bottom lip protruded slightly and honeyed brown eyes became watery. Somehow or another he had managed to upset her again and it churned his stomach for reasons he couldn't pinpoint.

Again he kissed her, this time closing his eyes too and slid his tongue across hers, digging thin fingers through her scalp which earned a soft moan to echo in his mouth. He never wanted to let her go – maybe that's precisely why he felt the need to run as far away from her as possible. They stared deep into each other's eyes then, and she cupped his jaw, planting a brief kiss on his moist mouth, before giving him permission to leave.

And like that, Jafar left without looking back, leaving Jasmine alone to suffer a curling tightness in her gut.

Where did they stand, she wondered miserably? She didn't know what to expect anymore – even from someone as erratic as Jafar there was always a trace of predictability. Now, however, it was more confusing than ever and the peaceful content she had felt earlier vanished as if it had never existed at all.

For now, Jasmine tried to allow herself some much needed sleep and slipped under the covers and drifted off into a cumbersome slumber.


	27. Chapter 27: Give Up

Glittering chiffon fabric whipped in the wind like a dancer greeting a song. _Their_ song. He could hear it whistling, buzzing around his head even now. A tune constructed from love, hope, and _tragedy_. It was always tragedy that sang the strongest note in their melody. A tragedy which led to hopelessness and anguish, hate and confusion, then ultimately – he'd been told – healing. But the healing never came, or if so Malachi had yet to accept its comfort. Healing meant forgiving and forgiving meant forgetting who the enemy was; it meant disgracing her memory, downgrading the horrific ending to her life.

It always came back to that night; to where the ancient tree stood. Over the last six years Malachi had often been drawn back. He'd sit miles out, unseen, and simply relive what could never be undone. The Thieves and him did travel all over the middle east. Once in China and Australia for only a few months at a time. There'd been beauty unlike any he could've imagined. But this spot here held the deepest worth above all. It was where his life changed forever – where he died and was reborn from a lake of hell.

She had told him to come tonight, though he'd no intention of doing so until the spring months. Without question Malachi had obeyed Lilura's odd instruction; she knew things mortals did not, possessed the gift of sight. Which is why he stood here in the freezing cold.

The scarf danced more vividly, slashing about the breeze, sticking now and then to the branches before ripping free again. Malachi _needed_ that scarf. It was the only thing left of her on this earth. It might still carry her scent. Or a fragment of hair may be bound to its fibers. Her skin had touched that fabric, her pulse had beaten beneath its covering. It'd laid between her chest and absorbed the sound of her heartbeat. Even her laughter was bound to the garment and Malachi knew that it could grant him a glimpse of his love one last time.

That bastard knew it also. Knew that Malachi would be watching. Why else would Cyrus have tied the scarf to its branches? It was bait, a signal after all these years, that the old fool was finally ready to meet his fate. So be it – it was always meant to end like this. Malachi versus the man he'd once called father. Tonight, was as good as any to run the fucker through or die trying. Should Malachi fail he'd at least be rejoined with his fiancé and child. It was time to end it for good. Ensuring the dark uniform mask covered his face entirely, Malachi climbed down from a flat stoned roof and headed for the hilltop.

* * *

The scent of stale rose water, from years of being tucked away in storage, filled his nostrils as he drew the scarf to his face. He buried himself in the rag and was pulled back in time with it. He was fifteen again, in the streets of Safed. Mirela was dancing. Brown wild hair tossing as she bowed and dipped, undulating her slender curves. Eyes blue and green swirls. He could feel her heartbeat, see the glistening sweat on her face and chest. She was with him, calling him. He could protect her, save her this time. Keep her and make her real again. Mirela pranced forward on jeweled feet and whispered against his skin. Her breath felt as real to him as the fluttering gust from a hummingbird's wing. _Come back to me_, she'd breathed carrying the scent of earth and spring flowers with her. Malachi nearly stepped over into the other side, to where she was, when someone from behind shattered the dream and stole her from him again. Malachi grunted like a snarling hog and carefully tucked his prized possession in the lining of his chest before turning around.

"Is that what you did that night? Hiding in the shadows before ambushing a woman?" Winter winds were picking up again biting through his mask but his cheeks were heated nevertheless. His heel turned up the soil as he walked. "No, of course not. You got her to trust you instead. Led her out here all alone. Defenseless, helpless," Malachi paused placing a gloved finger to where his mouth was. "_Oh, _and _pregnant_. That didn't stop you though."

"I hadn't known you were having relations before marriage." Cyrus said as if to use Malachi's sin as exemplary for his actions.

"Your grotesque cowardliness knows no bounds. Eh, _Cyrus_?"

"So that gives you a right to become a coward yourself? A murderer. A thief?"

Malachi scoffed sharply, pulling black gloves tight against his skin. "That's always the way you've seen things. Black and white. Your way is the only right one and so hello the soul that dares wander from the path you deemed worthy."

"It's not my path, but the Lord's, Malachi."

"Putting responsibility off again as usual." Malachi felt taller, stronger than his father. Something not felt until tonight and he aimed to build himself up and tear the old fool down. "See, unlike you I won't deny who I am, nor what I've become. I _enjoy _it. I _thrive this way _and am unashamed. But _you_," A double edged blade, engraved with the mythological bird, Roc, was unsheathed. The razor-sharp blade made of obsidian captured the milky moonlight as it pointed towards Cyrus. "**_You_** betrayed the brethren of the Thieves, deceived your wife, your children, always pretending to be a holy man. A righteous man. Even when you exiled Mirela – murdering your own grandchild in the process – you did it under the pretense that it was for a noble cause!" Malachi screeched now pacing like a riled coyote. "You're pretending still to this day, aren't you? I see it in those pathetic watery eyes; my mother finally found out, didn't she? She's gone, isn't she?" Malachi leaned aggressively forward. "You deserve to die alone – knowing every last person you ever cared for despises and sees you for what you always truly were."

It was Cyrus' turn to become angry, though he didn't try to hold back his tears. Pointing a thick finger in warning Cyrus said, "Do not speak of what you do not know. I've paid penance more times than I can count. Not a day goes by I don't live with regrets. With burdens of my past. With the agonizing truth that I cost Mirela and the baby their lives!"

"Don't say her name!" Malachi screamed in an octave too high his voice cracked. "I'll cut out your blasted tongue if you say her –."

"–I've already asked your forgiveness and I will not kill myself over your inability to do so! On judgment day I _will_ answer to God, and God _alone_, but not to _you_. And someday you will have to answer for all you've done as well." Cyrus pulled back with a tepid look when Malachi's mouth twisted nastily.

"You know nothing of what I've done. What I'm capable of – the truth would turn your insides out."

"Like how you started those fires in Agrabah last month?"

Malachi's sneer snapped into a flat line.

"Children died in that fire, you know. Families. _Innocent_."

He scoffed drastically at that. "You're callin' whores and traitors innocent now? A score had to be settled with a traitor – everything else was collateral damage."

Cyrus ignored him. "Is that the sort of _man _you're proud to be, Malachi? A _killer_?"

He sat back in his hips, dropping the knife to his side unwilling to sheath it. "What would you know about that piss city anyway? Hell, you should be much more worried about what's going to happen to you."

Cyrus' expression was unreadable in the shadow of night but he spoke with conviction. "You're hardly a threat to me, boy and I am not one to you. This animosity _needs_ to end."

Cyrus tried to reason peacefully but there would be no peace between them ever again. The bone handle grew slick beneath Malachi's firm grasp, his palm clammy with angst.

"It does end. With your blood." _This is for you, Mirela._

Malachi lunged, legs apart, knees bent and Cyrus narrowly leaned away in time. The obsidian blade glinted, acrobatically flipping in its master's hand in a taunting fashion as both men stalked in a circle.

"I'm unarmed Malachi!"

"Another foolish move on your part."

Once, twice, the blade slashed down and across only to miss; Cyrus assumed it to be more for show than actual intent. (Otherwise he'd been done for already.) Malachi was toying with his food. They continued to pace, sizing one another up, looking for a weak spot. Cyrus was old, tired, joints stiff. He had size to his advantage but everything else was lacking.

"You'll kill an unarmed man?" Cyrus stepped sideways and winced from the pressure. "Where is the honor in that?"

"Where was the honor when you sent Mirela to her death!?"

"Mirela and that child are far better off gone rather than to have lived and seen what you've become."

A warrior like cry shook the night as Malachi charged then brought them both hard to the ground. They struggled in the dirt, howling, grunting their attack. Malachi pounded at Cyrus' face first then his gut when the blows had been blocked. His knuckles cracked from the force of his punches and pain shot like needles up his wrists, but Malachi didn't stop. In fact, he wanted more! The knife. Where was the knife!? Both men caught sight of it, locked eyes, then dove towards the webbing of tree roots to get to it. Cyrus took hold of the carved bone handle first; Malachi shoved his thumbs into his father's eyes until Cyrus relinquished the weapon. Malachi scrounged to take hold of it then heard the slight rasp of material ripping as Cyrus yanked him upright by the collar. A blow came to the side of Malachi's head then his gut before being let loose. The Thief dropped like a rock to his knees with a belly groan and pulled the covering from his mouth to spit blood.

"Enough, Malachi!" Both wheezed trying to catch their breaths. "I will not let you kill me but I refuse to take you out in the process. Like it or not you are still my son, and I am a man of honor!"

_Let's see how far your honor gets you._

In a single breath Malachi pushed off the ground, charged forward, stabbed Cyrus in the gut, then retracted the knife fluidly and brought it back down at Cyrus' heart. The blade hit Cyrus' hand instead, which'd flung up in defense, and pierced through the middle of his palm.

Malachi didn't have the chance to correct the mistake or even register the agonizing scream of his victim. A force had flung him like a rag doll several meters back smacking his corpse into the impenetrable tree trunk. He hit and fell with a sickening crunch then went limp as if every bone in his body had shattered. Images began to blur and darken around the corners of his eyes. Someone came closer and Malachi whispered, "Mirela," praying she'd come for him in death.

Instead it was a snakelike creature, slender, slick, predatory. A devil.

"H-Hades?"

Black twisted sniggering emanated from the shadow. "Close. _Very_ close."

And then there was nothing.

* * *

Jasmine's hands were trembling as steaming water sprang from the teapots spout. The boiling liquid doused black tea leaves in each of the four cups though to be honest Jasmine hadn't a clue if she was doing it right. She'd never made tea without help and the color in each cup looked all wrong. With further inspection it smelled funnily too, bitter. Her spine rolled as if to rid the unpleasant aroma. She should just redo it but considering what was happening it was hardly plausible that _tea_ was anyone's current concern.

"Least its warm." She mused beneath her breath setting the china on a small platter to better carry them out.

Jasmine took a beat to stare out beyond the kitchen. In the parlor nearest the front entrance sat Jafar and Cyrus – who looked like a bloodied mess with one foot in the grave – in tall backed chairs with a decorated tea table between them. There was a neighboring room, much smaller and with glass paneled doors, where a third man stood. Malachi, she presumed, though hadn't been told indefinitely his identity. The room was plain other than a wooden chair, which looked unorthodox compared to the rest of the décor, a small table similar to the one in the parlor, and a settee that looked even more uncomfortable than the wooden seat. Malachi stood in the corner, arms crossed, head down but not defeated.

Trying to keep the platter from rattling with nervous energy Jasmine went first to distribute the stranger's cup of tea. Wordlessly she set it atop the table, casting a scathing glance at the blue and black uniform he wore. His face was covered – it could very well be Aladdin beneath those garments though if that were the case he wouldn't be standing here alive and well. His glinting orbs locked with hers and she hurried across to the parlor, taking comfort in the fact that Jafar was keeping an eye on her through the glass doors. She set down the other men's cups now, and quickly forgot she'd been embarrassed by the beverage and focused instead on what these two were saying.

Or weren't saying.

Once she'd stepped into the room they'd cut off midsentence and _that's_ what concerned her. Instead they spoke with their eyes, flashing tense and knowledgeable glances that spoke with deafening volume. Jasmine should just be grateful Jafar had fetched her from the caves instead of leaving her there for the duration of the hype. Still her inquisition was unquenched; she deserved an explanation of what was happening. The young woman wiggled in her chair much like a child, coming to the edge of the seat as if her anxiousness would make them include her.

Everyone idly sipped the tea and Jasmine grimaced pulling a face that Cyrus found amusing despite his ailments. His laugh sounded more like a groaning whisper but it lightened her spirits ever so slightly.

"Not to your liking, your majesty?" Cyrus was pale, keeping a hand to his bandaged side but the smile remained.

Jasmine set her mug down with a low voice to match the setting. "Disgusting. I can't make it like Tzipporah does, that's for sure. It's almost worse than the time Tahira had attempted coffee – even though I'd settle for that glop in place of this." Jasmine stilled realizing none of them knew who she was talking about and in truth she'd forgotten about Tahira up until just then; and that made her sick with guilt.

Jafar held a question in his eyes but saved the inquiry for later. "It's something warm – thank you."

The reassurance was kind and Jasmine tried not to smile like a fool, instead she nodded apologetically and took another sip of tea. Other than Cyrus' occasional groan of discomfort the silence carried on. Not even their 'guest' made so much as a peep. Jasmine eyed the stranger in the other room carefully then watched in concern as Cyrus nursed an injured hand, rewrapping it in clean cloth.

"You're a stubborn fool," Jafar said in a hushed snarl.

"Been in worse than this," Cyrus made a sound that betrayed his proclamation of well-being. "Honestly, I'll live through it."

"Not if I finish you off first and put you out of your damn misery."

Cyrus chuckled weakly remaining defiant. "I've survived this long without your magic, Jafar. I'm not about to start doubting God now but rushing something unnaturally."

"For the final time I didn't offer my magic." If it were that easy to mend the body he'd have used it when Jasmine was injured. "I offered to stitch the gash so you can at least stop bleeding."

"Ever stitch something by hand; let alone a person?"

Jafar's black eyes narrowed in annoyance. "I was going to use magic as an _aid_ in that regard –."

"See . . . _magic_. I don't want it. It's not that deep anyways."

"Fucks sake Cyrus." The muscles in Jafar's face jumped. Slender fingers rubbed the irritation from behind his eyes; he looked tired.

"Tzipp-," Cyrus whispered hoarsely, "Tzipporah has . . . has a s-sewing basket in the other room. Jasmine if you could."

She didn't need told twice. Within a couple minutes she'd retrieved the basket of needles and thread. Cyrus instructed her to thread the needle and tie a knot at the end of the string. Jafar shook his head disapprovingly but went for a bottle of liquor, per Cyrus instructions, and came back with it in hand. He uncorked it then doused Cyrus' stomach with the amber fluid. Cyrus swallowed a choking groan as it burned and the smell reminded Jasmine of the brothel.

"Now, Jasmine . . . s-sweetheart. I need you to."

"No!" Her refusal startled even herself but she couldn't possibly do what he was asking. She was at his feet, needle in hand, and looked between the two men with frightened eyes. "I can't, Cyrus. I-I don't know how – I don't like the sight of blood! If Jafar can't what makes you think I can?"

"You can. Your fingers are smaller, more agile. You'll be less likely to make a mistake. It doesn't have to be perfect. Just enough to stanch the bleeding and shut your husband up." Cyrus jeered with a smile that looked more like a grimace. "It'll be like stitching cloth together. Have you done that before?"

"Once." Jasmine said after thinking back. "When I was in the brothel – Ummah asked me to mend one of the girl's dresses. Tahira showed me just a basic stitch –."

"That'll work fine. Same concept applies. Just do your best darling." Cyrus' head rolled to the side, too spent to keep talking.

Jasmine's fingers trembled violently. Jafar was standing directly behind her; his presence both a comfort and distressing. She didn't want to mess up or prove inept. Moreover, she didn't want to hurt Cyrus. The tip of the needle pricked one side of the gash and Jasmine retreated afraid she'd vomit.

"I can't," Jasmine croaked and a strong hand gripped her shoulder reassuringly. She leaned her cheek against Jafar's knuckles and closed her eyes.

"Then he'll die, Jasmine . . ."

If that wasn't motivation she didn't know what was. Blowing forcefully out her mouth Jasmine dug up the courage to insert the needle through the bloody mess and stitched the gash as best she could. When she'd finished it looked mended correctly, more or less, and Jasmine swelled with pride. Jafar helped her to her feet and their eyes locked.

"Good girl." Jafar gave a crooked smile and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. It was the first time they'd touched since that morning in the caves. "You're capable of more than you realize, Mm? Now go wash up."

Jasmine did as she was told with a bounce in her step. Thanks to her Cyrus was going to be alright. It felt good to be needed, to accomplish something she'd never thought she'd be capable of doing. And Jafar's compliment was a pleasant bonus. But her momentary high quickly deflated upon returning to the parlor.

"Jasmine," Jafar said her name harsh, sitting upright again in his seat. "Go to the other room and finish your tea in there. Our guest is lonely. Keep him company while Cyrus and I talk."

Jasmine's mouth dropped. _Why_!? Jasmine looked to Cyrus who was in and out of sleep. It didn't look like he'd be doing much talking anyways. Somehow though he'd found the gumption to nod in agreeance for her to do as Jafar requested. Though it wasn't a _request_ at all, was it?

"You want me to leave? To be in a room, _alone_, with another man?" _An enemy no less?_

Jasmine had reiterated it as if Jafar lost what remained of his sanity but he responded with cold eyes not to be argued with. Jasmine sharply exhaled discontent, snatched up her tea and stormed to the room a few feet away then plopped petulantly down on the settee. Both men were directly across from where she now sat, the glass panel doors mostly closed but un-obstructive to their view of one another. It didn't make her feel any better – or safer.

One minute she was a hero, helping stitch a man back together; the next she was tossed in captivity with a stranger to act as, what? Bait? What other means did they have for sending her away like that? Did they need privacy so desperately they'd rather put her in potential danger than have her privy to their conversation?

_Fuck men . . . I swear_.

"You fuck up your sewing job that badly then, eh?"

"Excuse me?"

"Seen you in there, trynna undo my handiwork. Must've fucked it up to have them toss you in here with me. That or they don't want you listening to what they're saying."

"I _chose_ to come in here," came a defiant lie. Jasmine wanted to look straight ahead to deter conversation but didn't want to stare across at Jafar either, of whom she was irked with, so opted to stare down at the black tea instead.

"Sure, you did. Face it you're as unwelcome as I am."

_Whatever._ There was a pregnant pause and Jasmine apprehensively sipped the now cold tea. If it was possible it tasted even worse than when it'd been hot. Malachi peeked back towards the adjoining room and shook his head.

"Can't believe I missed. I _never_ miss. Would've had the old git too, square in the heart, had it not been for that freak throwing me off."

Jasmine's youthful face creased. "That man you tried murdering is your _father_ and a good man! And the only _freak_ here is _you_."

"Yea?" Malachi bit dryly then marched forward in a single stride to pull up the wooden chair. He flipped it around then straddled it to face Jasmine and leaned his forearms atop the back. They were too close for comfort but Jasmine trusted that Jafar would be watching a few feet away. "That _coward_ murdered the love of my life and our unborn child. _See_ – by the look on your pretty little face I'm guessing he left that part out?"

"There were some details he didn't share . . ." She hadn't asked either.

"How convenient." wide legs jittered from bouncing on his toes and he animated the narrative with strong menacing hands.

Jasmine clutched her tea a little tighter pulling into herself.

"You didn't stop to wonder why he's all alone?" Malachi pretended to scan the moonlit room. "I'm guessing the old ball and chain found out the truth – couldn't stand the sight of him knowing what he did and took off. He isn't my father and he isn't a _good_ anything."

She should let it be and didn't know why the accusation upset her. They'd only met two weeks ago but for whatever innate reason Jasmine sought to defend her friend. "He is good. He has a good heart. I trust him."

Small numerous teeth glinted in a sarcastic grin. "Are you always this gullible? Try keeping your mouth shut about things you don't know shit about. You'll seem less ignorant that way."

He didn't go back to his corner of the room as Jasmine had hoped. Instead he pulled down his mask and took up the cup of tea. Both cheeks swelled as he swished the fluid around before swallowing with a loud gulp; Jasmine noted his adam's apple was unregularly large and his shoulders and chest were narrow. A contrast to the broad girth of his father.

Malachi coughed into his fist, "That's the shittiest thing I think I've ever had down my throat."

Heat prickled her cheeks. "Considering what you've done you should be grateful you even have your throat."

"I think I'd rather have it torn out than to have to choke this down." He took another sip anyways then jeered. "Now I know why they sent you in here: To torture me."

"No one's making you drink the damn thing." Jasmine muttered and he shrugged. A few minutes passed before he spoke again.

"So . . . how long they planning on keeping me prisoner before killing me?"

_Oh Allah. _"No one is killing anyone." Least if she could help it. "Even if you do deserve it. Sides, you don't have any bindings on, no shackles on your feet, or bars on the doors. One would hardly call you a _prisoner_." Sometimes men were far more melodramatic than women.

"I suppose then that looks are deceiving. But you would know all about that, being a prisoner yourself, Princess Jasmine. Ya, I know who you are. I didn't at first but now I know. That one from Agrabah. You stood in the middle of the street that day, a child in your arms as you ran your gums at our leader. It was impressive. _Stupid_. But impressive."

It was like she'd swallowed a hard-boiled egg. The affirmation was surreal. This man had been a part of that horrific day. Until now the Thieves seemed more like an apparition, a ghost of the past that she could in theory forgive. Now it was all too real, the pain raw and wrath bubbling beneath her chest.

"_You_ attacked my people?"

"_Your_ people?" Malachi leaned forward arrogantly, "Hah! Don't you mean _his_? It's _his_ city. _His_ palace. _His_ people." He looked her over, slow, deliberate, with an upturned lip. "_His_ bitch."

_Smack him upside the head! Knee him in the groined!_

"No disrespect," Malachi feigned surrender. "Just call it as I see it. You're his prisoner just as much as I am. I've heard all about what happened, hell most the middle east has by now and in a year the rest of the world probably will too."

"Im _not_ a prisoner." Hadn't she said that inwardly on a loop the last few months? At first, she had been but she was here by choice now. She'd been the one to come back to Jafar. Had chosen him. Right?

"Of course not, because you're clearly his equal. You're sitting in here with an enemy, in the dark, by yourself while Satan sits in the other room oblivious to your well being, or needs, or feelings." Black gloves swept up the tea again, "Just calling it as I see it," he winked then threw back the remainder of the beverage. "Hmm. It kind of grows on you after a while." He noted conversationally analyzing the empty cup for more.

"You're pretty arrogant for someone that just had their ass handed to them."

"Why shouldn't I be? As you said I'm alive still. I have my enemy within reach," He gestured back to where Cyrus had been, "And now I've got the company of a beautiful woman. Maybe your Sultan sent you in here to do more than chat with me? Does he lend you out to everyone? Or just those he's trying to get information out of."

Saliva built in the side of her cheeks and she swished it across her tongue while compressing her lips.

"You know, Your Highness, it's customary for a woman to pleasure a man, especially one your Sultan is trying to strike a deal with. Surely, he'd want me in a cooperative mood – hmm? After all it's a meager expense for him to part with his whore for one night. That's all you are to him isn't it? A bargaining chip. A tool in his ploys. He's only getting started too – I'm sure I'm the first of many to come. So, lie on your back and tell me again that you aren't a prisoner – **_oof_**!"

He had come too close, practically clambered on top of her on the settee. Jasmine's knee rammed between his thighs allotting her time to scoot out from under him and put enough distance between them.

"You've got that same spit fire you had that day in the streets." Malachi was doubled over, kneeling on the floor, but presumed to laugh. "Man, Lilura would love you."

"Who?"

"No one," He said after regaining his wits about him. He stood with a crippled stance and chewed at his upper lip. "I wouldn't ever touch you."

"Yeah no shit, I wouldn't allow you the chance." Speaking of which, where in the hell was Jafar!? A quick glance over the shoulder and Jasmine saw Jafar and Cyrus were no longer sitting in the parlor room. _Fucking hell._ "Don't," Jasmine shouted palms outstretched when Malachi limped forward. He stopped.

"I don't rape women . . . I wasn't going to actually touch you. Was trying to prove a point is all."

She didn't need any proof that he was a scum ball like the rest of them, just as Jafar said they were. The man pulled back the hood on his head, releasing sandy brown curls that resembled Hadassah's wild hair, only lighter. He ran open palms down the side of his hips in a nervous habit and Jasmine seen something had struck a cord to erase his arrogant nastiness.

As if to answer her question he said, "I don't join in for that part of it, the raping. Never have. They only do it sometimes, as punishment for the men that wont hand over their belongings. They make them watch – we have to watch too or join in. I never do it though."

Jasmine rubbed the fabric of her collar between her thumb and index finger, supporting her elbow as she held an arm over her stomach. Malachi looked differently, almost kind and tortured at the same time. Suddenly her perception of the man became a thin veil between revulsion and sympathy.

"Then why stay with them? They do horrible things – you do horrible things, all for what? What could you possibly get out of all this? I get you're wounded and angry by what happened to your family but how does violence make any of that better?" There she went again preaching to someone considered a lost soul, but she couldn't help it. It was pressed at the back of her teeth and she couldn't keep from offering light to someone in darkness.

"He said you were like that," Malachi snorted and Jasmine thought he'd been referring to Jafar. "Aladdin said you were different than any one he'd ever known before. Mirela was like that too. Loving, kind. She always saw the good in people even when it wasn't there. She was beautiful too, like you. Is it true then?"

"Is what true?"

"That you were going to marry him?"

"I thought I was."

"You loved him?"

It felt like a trap, as if Jafar had been the one to send Malachi in here to bait her. Jasmine leaned her back tiresomely against the wall and nodded.

"A street rat and a princess. You _are_ different."

She didn't respond. It was none of his damn business what her plans had been a few months ago, or how drastically it all had changed since. He was the one on trial, not her. She needed to get him to open up; Jasmine thought of bringing up the fact that Malachi had burned down her city but doubted it would lead to anything fruitful.

"I'm glad Aladdin found some type of home, I was worried when he went off on his own . . . I ran into him at an inn the other day."

"I haven't seen him in almost a week. Last we talked is when he mentioned you though."

"A week, huh? You don't all stay together?"

"What're we hens in a coop? We all have jobs to do, our own agendas to contribute to our tribe. Sides he keeps leaving with _her_ lately. Disappearing all hours of the day and never coming back with anything useful. Now I know why." He looked pointedly to Jasmine as if she'd been the one he had snuck off to see all week. Jasmine steered the topic in another direction.

"I didn't know there were women? Looked like only men when I met your group." She used the word 'met' lightly.

Malachi took a seat in the wooden chair, suddenly making it feel like an easy conversation. "Nah they don't do any brunt work. We've only a few anyways, most are wives of the men but each woman belongs to a man in some form or another. Lilura's the only exception."

There was that name again. _Lilura_. He let it slip out as naturally as he had the first time then looked panicked that he'd said it again. Jasmine was quick to keep the conversation flowing.

"Lilura must be one tough woman in that case. I admire that – I'd kill to be in control of my own destiny. But," she sighed finding a painful truth to her confession, "unfortunately my life was never meant to be my own. I've always been told where to go, what to do, what to wear, what to think, or rather _not_ think. Who I'm to marry – I don't even have a right to my own heart . . . maybe you're right." Their eyes locked then, her suffering emanating through the connection. "Maybe I am just a prisoner."

The legs of the chair scratched against the rug as he shot out of the seat and hurried over to her. He placed one hand by her head, leaning on his arm as he peeked around to ensure they really were alone.

"Come with me then. I can get us both out of here, help me and I'll find you a place in our tribe."

"Why in Allah's name would you think I'd want that? I'm _nothing_ like them."

"You're nothing like these people either," his breath was stale, pluming in her face as he whispered. "Face it, you'd rather be living on the streets than in a stuffy palace. Rather have freedom if it meant sleeping in the dirt than spend another moment in a luxury as a captive. There's no oppressive rules."

"Clearly rules of _morality_ are lacking as well."

He ignored the biting sarcasm. "Your blood may be royalty but your spirit is made of something else. You don't belong here and you know it at your core. Haven't you wondered why you're drawn to life outside of those walls. Why it was _you_ in the streets that day fighting alongside peasants? A royal doesn't do those things . . . I'll take you to Aladdin," He added the latter as a last-ditch effort, their noses almost touching. "Come on Princess, let me show you a place you can finally belong. Let me take you to them."

"What an _excellent_ idea."

Jafar's rich staccato forced them apart, Malachi practically flipping over backwards to get away from Jasmine in time. But it'd been too late – Jafar hadn't missed a segment of their transaction. Moreover, he saw the allure Malachi's declaration had on her; she'd been fantasizing unashamedly because every accusation had been valid, piercing her soul with undeniability. Jasmine shrunk beneath Jafar's knowing glare. They would talk later. For now, it was Malachi's head on the chopping block and Jasmine kept to the wall handing Jafar the reins.

* * *

Jafar slithered in and though unencumbered by his staff was able to captivate his audience with the same alluring venomous bravado he'd perfected during years past. The whelp snarled at his approach, backing away like a toothless dog, growling with no bite; meanwhile Jafar possessed a lethal venom.

"You're rather small for a greasy ape –it's quite a letdown, if I'm honest." Jafar taunted, erasing their distance bit by bit. "Don't be afraid," he tutted sardonically, "You happen to be the luckiest man alive."

"Ha! I'm having trouble seeing just where the luck plays in."

Half of Jafar's mouth pulled back, his beard lining the predatory grin he bore so well. "I suppose an introduction is in order –."

"I know who you are – rather _what_ you are," Malachi interjected widening his stance and gathering both fists at his side. "How could I be afraid of someone like you – someone with blood more tainted than my own. Guess you need a reminder of how filthy your blood is – your lower than the low. Born as a slave to slaves."

Malachi gathered phlegm then shot it out to land directly on the toe of Jafar's slipper. The Sultan smirked in bored amusement, pressing on.

"Make no mistake that the sheer fact you draw breath is due solely to your father's requests. Were you a prisoner in my own home, on my own ground, there would be pieces of your _gangly,pubescent_ body scattered about. Now I'll make myself exceedingly clear: I will refrain from killing you, for the time being, but that does not mean I cannot break you into a thousand pieces in the process. I will shred you, limb from limb, break you bone by bone in order to tear down the walls of your mind and access the information I desire. Now, gutter rat, do we have a consensus or shall it become difficult?" He loomed overhead now.

"I'd die before I gave up my family," Malachi croaked.

Jafar's eyes flashed with pleasure, voice falling silkily sardonic. "Oh, I was so hoping you'd choose _difficult_."

* * *

Jasmine recoiled to the farthest wall of the parlor. The glass doors had been shut behind her but she could still hear the screams, the cracking of bone against bone. She thought to rush upstairs and hide underneath the bed to escape the nightmare, or even step outside for fresh air. But she couldn't. Not if she wanted to remain a boundary between Malachi's survival and death. Twice already she'd intervened, wedging herself between the victim and his persecutor in order to give Malachi a fighting chance. She'd been allowed to give him water, only once. She felt helpless.

Malachi was no saint, that was to be sure. She retained an amount of hostility for him and those he ran with. In the same token, Jasmine had seen a glimmer of potential in him. A potential to be something other than what he currently was. The same potential she believed Jafar had in him. She was either intuitive and gifted with foresight or idiotically naïve for believing either man was capable of being saved. Regardless, Malachi was a life and life, good or not, had value. Therefore, what Jafar was doing was wrong. End of story. But then again, she couldn't stop it from happening nor walk away. She was caught in the crossfire plagued with anxiety and an overwhelming urge to vomit in a nearby potted plant.

"_Fuck you_!" Malachi swore, screaming like a banshee.

Jasmine had heard the term from Geraldine; a banshee was a grieving spirit, trying to warn her family about her impending doom. Her eyes were said to be red from centuries of crying as she tore out her hair while bawling all through the night. Jasmine didn't believe in such spirits, but if she had, Malachi would be the exact replica of just that. She cast a wincing glance his way. He was still tied to the wooden chair, blood spilling out from unidentified areas of his body. The moon was setting now possibly making the time four in the morning. It'd carried on for hours this way and Malachi had given nothing to Jafar.

When Malachi's wrist snapped backwards Jasmine had met her end. The glass panels burst upon her entrance, slamming against the walls as she stormed in and shoved Jafar by the shoulder. Again, lodging herself between the two men.

"Call it a night! He's done – walk away!"

"Move little girl before –."

"Before what? You torture me too? I said that's enough for one night. _Please_, just walk away."

It seemed like ceaseless minutes in which she held her breath before Jafar relented. He waved a finger aerially and out of the shadows two men appeared, startling Jasmine in the process. Had they been there the entire time? She'd not noticed them until now. They were unimpressive in stature and wore simple colored uniforms though they might have held a derisory level of importance. They came to Malachi's side then knocked him unconscious with the blunt end of a sword before carrying his unconscious body down the hallway and out the front door. Jasmine supposed they'd take him to the stables having been hired to guard him through the night.

When it was just the two of them Jasmine whirled around on Jafar, who meticulously cleaned splatters of blood from his hands. "Was all that really necessary?"

His eyes glinted like obsidian, mirroring the moonlight. "Didn't enjoy the show, my dear?"

"You realize that you won't get anything from him that way."

"_I'm_ getting something out of it." He smirked, having enjoyed the chance to blow off a little steam. "I'd have hired help to do the dirty work for me, but ill confess it's much more satisfying this way."

"_Nice_."

The cloth Jafar'd been using was slapped down over the back of the chair as he readied himself for a tedious argument.

"Where was Cyrus in all that anyway? I looked over and you both were gone. Did he know what you planned to do to his son, didn't he hear the screams? Am I going to find him bound to a chair somewhere as well with a gag in his mouth?"

"Somehow I doubt any answer given will be to your liking." Jafar mimicked her crossed arms sitting into his hips with a wide stance. His sleeves had been rolled up over his forearms and his chest peaked from the slit in his collar. "Cyrus is in his room, half dead while Agrabah struggles to recuperate and my wife was nearly lost to me forever all_ because_ of that little cunt, so _yes_, **_sweetheart_**, what I did was very necessary and will continue to be for every passing moment that he refuses to cooperate."

"He was opening up to _me_!" Jasmine palmed her chest as if wounded. "He _would've _cooperated. Wasn't that your plan by sending me in there? You knew he wouldn't find me threatening, that he'd talk to me because I seem trustworthy."

"Astute observation."

God, she wanted to pull out her hair. "And it was _working_, so then why did you interrupt it!"

"Was there something you were looking to _finish_?" He snarled suddenly unable to hide behind a self-possessed mask. "He never would've taken you to them - though I suppose a woman will believe anything a man says when he has her backed up against the wall whispering her innermost wants and desires."

Jasmine rolled her eyes shaking her head to blow off the heat surging between them. This was no time to have a shouting match. "He gave me a name; did you hear _that_ too?" Jasmine said with more composure than she felt. "Lilura."

"_What'd you say_?"

"Lilura . . ."

". . . You're certain that's what he said?"

"Yes? He said it twice. Said she would want to meet me and that she was part of their tribe; though he made it sound like she was in charge to some degree . . . _Why_? Do you know who she is?"

He shook his head with a look of forlorn rather than appreciation at the information. Everything in Jasmine screamed out like alarm bells that Jafar was hiding something. She knew Jafar to be many things but a liar hadn't been one of them. More than most Jafar was forthright, even to the point of brutality, but it'd been a trait she'd respected. Now he was lying right to her face?

Jafar scoffed, "Excuse me?"

"I said you're _lying_," she reiterated leaning forward.

With a catlike silhouette Jafar erased the distance and towered over her. Jasmine pulled inwardly then made a conscious effort to draw back her shoulders and broaden her chest; that only made Jafar chuckle darkly as if her attempt at bravery was comical. Jasmine was quick to wipe that smirk off his face when he tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear and softly grazed the side of her cheek with his knuckles. She froze.

"I would like to take you to bed, pussy _cat_." The smoky rumble came from some place in the back of his throat and moisture pulled unwarranted at her center.

Maybe it was a combination of what'd happened earlier in the caves, mixed with the way his sleeves were rolled up, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he stood before her, and the musky scent of healthy sweat and fresh night air that stemmed from his powerful body that made Jasmine simultaneously queasy and aroused. Why did she want him still? Even after seeing what he did tonight, after knowing that just a moment ago he had lied to her.

"We're both exhausted," Jafar's fingers began rubbing the tension from her shoulders and her resolve melted like candle wax with each stroke of his thumbs. "I was so proud of you today. For helping Cyrus, for being my brave, clever little wife when dealing with our enemy." Her eyes fluttered closed as he slipped behind and pulled her hair to one side to exhale softly on her skin. Large steady hands smoothed down the flat of her belly then dipped between her thighs finding her moist and warm. He smiled against her neck and susurrated like a viper. "Prefer the bed . . . or right here on the table?"

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. The table, the chair, the floor, everywhere! Don't stop, don't ever stop. I need you – You're being a damn cliché, get it together woman! You're upset remember? And nauseated, you need to throw up – kiss him, grind against him, tell him you're falling for him – no be strong, be independent. Would your mother have let Jafar manipulate her like this?_

Oh, that did _not_ just happen. Her eyes flew open. Now she was comparing her relationship with Jafar to the one her mother had had with him!? For Allah's sake now she was really queasy.

"I'm gonna be sick."

Jafar pulled back to look at her white face. Before he could ask Jasmine rushed out the room into the courtyard and became ill in the soil of a bush against the house. Thankfully she'd not eaten much that day and her stomach emptied before Jafar caught up with her. She remained on all fours trembling, too worn and lightheaded to stand. Jafar lifted her into his arms and carried her back inside and up to the guest room. With few words Jafar had helped Jasmine undress and get into bed. He proceeded to bring up a glass of water before blowing out the candle and slipping into bed next to her. Jafar assured that she didn't have a fever and diagnosed her ailment from stress and exhaustion; which sounded about right. At least her stomach had calmed considerably and they both fell into an easy sleep.

* * *

It was still dark when Jasmine woke so it couldn't have been more than an hour before the nightmares had woken her. She remembered them this time – an island, a grotesque bloody battle, a woman with a knife. Jasmine fought to steady her breathing and swung her legs to the side of the bed, body slick with sweat. Fleetingly Jasmine thought to wake Jafar and tell him about the recurring dreams but he looked dead to the world and she knew he was far more exhausted than she had been. _Beating someone for hours on end would do that_, she supposed with a roll of the eyes. Jasmine snuck from the room successfully and headed to the kitchen to try and find some leftover bread. The nightmares weren't the only thing that had woken her. An angry noise crackled the silent home.

"Shh, I hear you damnit."

Great now she was talking to her stomach. It wasn't long before Jasmine had made a plate of day old bread and some cheese and a pot of tea. This time it wasn't as strong and by adding a bit of honey it'd tasted almost perfect. Jasmine hummed with a smile soaking up the rare moment of solitude and delicate peacefulness. The harmonious moment was conversely obstructed by a low cough.

"Sorry," Cyrus bemoaned with a sheepish grin, "I needed something to drink is all." He shuffled into the kitchen looking weak but much improved from hours prior. Jasmine was admiring his strength when she realized she was being a horrible houseguest and rushed to offer Cyrus the tea she'd made.

"It's better than the first I promise. Would you like a sandwich maybe? I got out the bread and cheese already."

Cyrus nodded his thanks, groaning as he took a seat at the table. Before long they were sitting adjacent one another enjoying the early morning as they ate and drank in companionable silence. The sun had only just started its ascent and sluggish orange hues splintered through one of the windows.

"How's the hand?" Jasmine nodded keeping the tea cup near her lips. Cyrus shrugged turning his hand over to analyze the bandage.

"Believe it or not its not my first stabbing." Her eyes fell to his stomach then and he waved her concern away. "I'll survive that too – in large part thanks to you."

"Glad to be of use . . . Malachi wasn't too happy I stitched you up." She didn't mean to sound insensitive but lack of sleep and watching Jafar beat the man for several hours had desensitized her to the topic. Cyrus stalled, vying for time as he sipped his tea.

"Jafar get the answers he needed?" He asked but clearly already knew the answer.

Jasmine traced the water ring her cup had left on the wood and shook her head.

"Suppose he got satisfaction out of the beating; it'll stave his thirst for bloodlust for the time being but it won't be enough." He made Jafar sound like some blood sucking bat feeding to stay alive. Perhaps more unsettling was how easily he spoke of his son's fate.

"There were two men here; some type of guards it looked like. Jafar had them take Malachi out front to the stables I think. Did you know about _that_ too or were you only in on the beating?" Contempt thickly laced her response and Cyrus sat back unapologetic.

"You think less of me for allowing Jafar to do what needs done."

"What needs done – god you sound just like him. Malachi is still your son."

"With all respect, your Majesty, I'd appreciate it if you left these matters solely to myself and your husband. That boy out there died to me six years ago when he ran off to join my enemies and nothing proved that more than his actions tonight. If it weren't for Jafar I would have died on that hill and that's the Lords truth. Any redemption I thought my son could've had . . ." he trailed off, scratching the back of his head before smoothing the natted hair. "My son is a killer. He's killed before and he will again if given the chance. They've got a hold so thick on his soul now. Malachi is like a wolf who's tasted human blood and he can't go back to being satisfied without it."

_Sounded a lot like Jafar._

"He's too far indebted to them – I know because I've been there. The King of Thieves were my family at one point too. And to a kid that never had a family it was the safest place I'd ever felt. Malachi doesn't believe he has any family left and that's the same thing as being an orphan. It's always a comfort to belong, even if it's with the wrong crowd." Cyrus' eyes glazed over though she couldn't tell if it was from deep thought or exhaustion. "Malachi won't give them up easily to be sure; but every man has a breaking point. The sooner he cooperates the better . . . for us all."

"Will you honestly allow more abuse?"

"I gave Jafar my word to aid him in finding our common enemy. Malachi is a stranger to me now. Where would the honor be to betray my word to Jafar and protect a murdering thief? Right is right, Jasmine."

Her eyes felt hot and she snapped in a tart tone. "_Honor_? How is there honor by treating another human like meat on a hook? How is bloodshed honorable in _any_ capacity?" What if Baba had said that about her!? Turned a blind eye at her torture because she'd made too many mistakes. What sort of father would allow such a thing?

"Malachi made his choice and still has once to make. He can make it stop."

"And if he doesn't?" She was standing now, voice a high pitched shrill. "If this brilliant plan the two of you chumps concocted doesn't produce any value what then? W-Will you let Jafar kill Malachi!?"

Cyrus sighed, "I don't wish to speak of this any longer. Jafar will wonder where you've gone off to." He went to sip his tea and Jasmine smacked the cup sending it to shatter on the floor. He remained calm, much less like herself.

"Was it all bullshit then!? Everything you told me yesterday. About Jafar? That he was lost but he could be found – that even the darkest parts of people could still be touched by the light! Did you mean any of it or is that theory just not good enough for your own son? Because I saw torment and regret and fear in Malachi's eyes. Not a lost cause, not a cold black soul, but a person trapped between two parts of himself. So, answer me!" It was a full-blown shout that surely woke the house if not the neighborhood. "Are you just refusing to believe it for yourself or was it all a lie?"

Cyrus' eyes were lined with red and Jasmine felt her throat close.

"Please," the top of her lip quivered with emotion, ". . . don't tell me that my husband can be saved, that _I _am responsible for helping bring goodness to his life then deny the same for your own flesh and blood. You can't dangle hope in front of me just to take it away. I – I have to believe there's a way back from all the ugliness of one's past. For Jafar, for _me_. And if you take that away from me, if you say it's all hopeless, after _everything_ I've already lost . . . Cyrus I don't know if I can survive."

Cyrus tilted his head to the side with large concerned eyes. He didn't want to lie, to say everything would work out for her, or even for himself. She looked to him as if he held the answers but in truth he'd never had any. Simply put, he was utterly worn. The chair scooted out as he stood, Jasmine stepping back in the process to allot appropriate space between them. All he could offer was a stiff smile and squeezed the meat of her arm as if imparting a level of strength; or maybe he'd been trying to draw out some of her own for himself.

"Oh," Cyrus turned back around when he was halfway down the hall. "Umm, I'm going to write to Tzipporah. Let her know Malachi's here. I don't want her to see him like this but it'd be far crueler if she never got the chance to see him again. I figured she at least has the right to know – maybe even be able to get him to talk if Jafar can't. Goodnight, your Highness." Cyrus walked dejectedly to his room and closed the door, leaving Jasmine to face the dawn alone.

Jasmine pinched her eyes shut, finding it difficult to obtain enough strength just to keep breathing. On weak legs she'd made it as far as the stairs before collapsing, an overwhelming weight forcing her to the ground. Jasmine clung to the railing with one hand, covering her mouth with the other and sobbed there on the bottom steps. The world had become so full of darkness. At every turn something sought to break her spirits, plague her with hopelessness and death. If it wasn't her life and family being torn apart it was someone else's. It was too difficult to cope with anymore and all Jasmine could do was grieve.

She grieved for the loss of her father; for the man he had been, the man she thought he was, for his health, his happiness, his reign as a loving kind Sultan. She grieved for the loss of her mother, rather the image she had tried to protect all those years. For the loss of her first love – of what could've been even if it was far from realistic. But she didn't want realism anymore, she wanted to stay in a bubble of ignorance rather than face the harsh truth. She grieved for Tahira, for Ummah, Vada, the little boy in the café, Rahman. She grieved for Raja and even the genie she had never gotten the chance to know. She sobbed brokenly on the steps, each tear in remembrance of those she loved and cared for. For Tzipporah, the children and Cyrus and even Malachi. Most of all she cried for herself; the loss of her identity, authority and innocence. She'd lost those three things it seemed daily, on a loop. And lastly, she grieved for Jafar. The man that had brought so much pain and pleasure, confusion and clarity to her life. She hated him, she loved him. Wanted to heal and save him and now she was told there was no real hope.

Tragedy, heartache, misfortune, calamity, disaster, whatever she chose to label it, it all meant the same thing. _Defeat_. At every turn Jasmine _kept_ _losing_ and the turmoil broke her at the knees and held her down by the neck. She just wanted a shred of light to come back into her life; the same light she tried believing was possible for Jafar, Aladdin, and Malachi.

Now it would be a miracle if she even found some of it for herself.


	28. Chapter 28: The Whole Truth

**Appreciate the comments and new followers/favorites. You're all so wonderful, seriously, it's what keeps this story going. **

**There is plenty of dialogue and information presented in this chapter and I apologize if it is confusing. If so, please let me know if I need to clarify anything. **

**….**

* * *

There was a full moon. There was always one between the sharp, bare branches of an unnamed forest. Jasmine had been here before. An island in her dreams – forgotten nightmares of an etiolated grove. This time, however, it lacked the usual chaos of war and terror that always lead to her own death.

Lush green grass, cold and pillowy beneath her bare feet, remained undisturbed. The silence so unnatural. Not even the chirp of a cricket or rustling of wind in the leaves could be heard. Jasmine looked straight ahead and found a hilltop, hundreds of feet in width and height, its bare skin basking in the moon's pale-yellow light.

Then, the monstrous chomping of unified steps cut through the calm. They came in by the hundreds; wraith-like soldiers marching up every side of the mound, spear in hand and age-old armor on their backs. Their skin was thick like leather and gaping holes of black soil were packed into the sockets of their eyes. Like a unified clash of cymbals, the soldiers abruptly stopped. A path opened then, leading from Jasmine's feet towards the top of the hill. Without consent her body floated along the course set out, the visitant warriors' unholy eyes watching as she went.

There, on the peak of the hill stood an altar made of black stone. In the ground, on either side of the post, were large empty bowls. They looked like gaunt mouths, sticking up out of a grave in a most horrific way.

Next came a woman's crow-like wail. Its unhallowed cackle piercing the morrow of Jasmine's bones.

"Someone there?"

**Ja-aaaaa-smine. **

Her name was drawn out in a monotone song. The ghostly undertone vibrating Jasmine's core as if it'd originated from her body.

"W-what do you want?" She fought for solidity but the words were tremulous. "Why do you bring me here?"

Then a different laughter rang, this time crisp like silver. _"Take the blade. Obey, little lamb. It's prophecy."_

The woman's voice came from the other side of the altar and Jasmine cautiously walked to better see. On her knees the woman's back was kept to Jasmine, onyx hair covering the sides of her face like a curtain, but something felt vaguely familiar. The stranger held a child in her arms, but Jasmine couldn't see them either. Only feel their presence, taste their fear as if knowing what would come next.

The woman coaxed again with a silver tongue. _"Do it."_

_Look away Jasmine. _Came a third voice.

Jasmine froze, breath strangled as she waited.

_"Little Lamb?"_ The woman asked eerily and Jasmine took a step back. The woman angled her shadowed face, ear turned out. _"Are you trying to hide? I can hear you breathing." _

Heart in her ears an unsettling whisper commanded: _Run_. She couldn't move. Then a child's pitched scream shook the foundation of the ground and Jasmine heard the voice command again: RUN!

Jasmine stumbled, looking over a shoulder as she ran, tripping over her own feet. The woman rose. She was coming. Coming for Jasmine. This had happened before –Jasmine had run before. In the end she would be caught.

_Don't look, Jasmine!_

But it was too late. Jasmine's gut collided with the altar and a sticky warmth coated her hands and clothes. At the sight Jasmine fell to the ground on her backside, noiselessly screeching in terror. Blood. There was so much. It drenched the slab of stone, pouring like a waterfall over the sides and into the mouths of the ground, ceaselessly gushing from nothing.

_Not nothing. Someone. _

"No!"

**Remember and come. You can't hide much longer. **

_Close your eyes, Jasmine._

"Stop it!" Jasmine futilely covered her ears.

The gaping jaws that swallowed the offered blood began overflowing and the ground beneath broke open with a vengeance. The blood engorged mouths cracked like bones and skinless muscled creatures with gaunt expressions emerged – she knew they were demons. There was a curdling scream, from Jasmine or something else, she couldn't tell anymore. Frantically her eyes closed, both fists bawled up at her sides as every fiber in her turned to stone. Then the world collapsed as darkness took hold.

* * *

"Jasmine. _Jasmine_ – **_hey_**!" Jafar barked, shaking her violently when she wouldn't wake up. Finally, the screams fell flat. Jasmine's rigid form slackening as she remained unaware and dead asleep. Jafar breathed an exasperated exhale.

That was the fifth night in a row.

Jafar threw himself back on the pillows and covered heavy eyes with the back of his arm. It was this damn place. His own damn fault for ever bringing her along. In a few hours they'd be leaving Safed once and for all and this would all be behind him. Apparently, Jafar would find little rest until then.

* * *

The next morning leather straps rung through the loops of saddle packs. The two men Jafar had hired loaded the last bit of cargo onto the royal horses. Honey and the black stallion had become rather fond of each other the last few weeks and were nearly inseparable. Honey nudged the stallion as he covered her neck with his and their sides pressed together; in the process it squished the hand of one of the men.

"Mother's whore that hurt, stupid animal!" The man wailed ripping free and swatting the mare on the backside. The black stallion whinnied angrily and the man came around to the front. "That goes double for you. Filthy beast!"

"They gettin' the better of you again, Zephaniah?" The brother called, adding the final sack of provisions to the stallion then walked behind the horses. "No wonder. You gotta be brighter than the animal, mate."

"You callin' me stupid, Caden?" Zephaniah said, mispronouncing his 's' as usual.

"You said it, not me. And _ma_ says it too." He jeered.

Zephaniah marched over to slug his brother when the stallion hiked its hind leg and kicked Zephaniah in the back, knocking him to the cobblestone. Caden guffawed wildly.

"Bloody beast!"

Caden clapped his hands in applause, hovering over his brother's crumpled form. "That's the problem. No one respects you. Gotta show them who's in charge." Caden moved aside then landed a deafening swat to the stallion's butt and gave a haughty scoff. "See? Who's the superior one now?"

In timely response Honey raised a hoof and shot it straight back, kicking Caden to the ground like his brother.

"I guess that answers _that_." Cyrus laughed appearing above the two men. "Can't mess with one and not get the brute end from the other."

"They aren't that smart – a pair of worthless swine," Zephaniah nursed his back with a scowl.

"Oh, I see worthless swine alright." Jafar mocked from beside Cyrus and the two buffoons scrambled to their feet despite the pain. "I trust everything is in order?" The boys stammered as Jafar lethally approached. "Because it would be a shame for Cyrus' clean courtyard to suddenly become splattered with human entrails, all because two, _worthless_, _fat, morons_ delayed my schedule!" Jafar had been torturing not only Malachi the last five days but these men as well, and delighted in making them squirm one last time.

"The Queen is nearly ready." Caden rushed with ceaseless nodding, "All belongings packed away like you asked, food, water and sorts."

"Except the prisoner. He's still in the stable." Zephaniah added with a dumfounded nod.

Jafar's deathly stare should've been enough to get the point across but when neither man moved to finish their duties Jafar shouted, "Then get it. _Now_!" The men clumsily ran into each other before breaking off to fetch Malachi.

"_It_?" Cyrus said solemnly when the pair had gone. "He's a human being, Jafar. Not an object."

"He's a murderous thief. I simplified the term."

Cyrus' tongue felt uncomfortable in his mouth, like it'd grown too large and was weighed down with anxiety. Jafar cast a sideways look.

"Second thoughts old man? You understand why he's coming with us to Agrabah. My efforts here are producing little value. He needs to be secured in the dungeons and then tried for the crimes against him. I'm allowing the imperial court to weigh in on the matter."

"Its only been five days." Cyrus protested sorrowfully and turned his attention to the horses as a buffer. "Tzipporah might still make it back to see him. Opal's never met him. Josiah likely doesn't remember him."

"Then I'm performing them a service. Thank me for erasing the very scourge that has weakened your family." Jafar switched the staff from his left to his right hand and clamped spindly fingers over Cyrus' shoulder. "As you said. Its been five days. Jerusalem is only two away. Tzipporah is not coming and my time here has run its course."

Cyrus said nothing as Jafar's cold touch left; the Sultan turning back towards the house to find Jasmine. Cyrus had raked a hand through his coarse beard, silently asking God for strength and wisdom, when Malachi was brought out. A burlap sack was over the boy's head, stained with blood. Both hands were tied behind him with rope and his bludgeoned legs were so mangled they could hardly hold Malachi upright. In fact, if it weren't for the two men holding him under the arms, there'd be no way he could independently walk. One of the brothers took a long rope, fasted one end to the black stallion, and the other like a noose around Malachi's neck, securing it tightly in place.

Stomach acid rose, eating away at Cyrus' throat before he forced it down again. God would have to answer faster if He didn't want Cyrus to murder Jafar.

"Say your goodbyes if you wish." Jafar drawled unempathetically and Cyrus' face turned white hot.

"What have you done to him! What do you intend to do still? With what's _left_ of him anyway." His stentorian voice reverberated off the courtyard walls. "He may be your prisoner but he's still my blood. I deserve to know my son's fate!"

Jafar turned back with a wicked smile. "Forgive my misguided notions but _your_ son died six years ago. Isn't that the mantra you've fed the village and your family the better half of a decade? Malachi became my property the minute I stopped him from launching that blade into your sagging chest. Out of _sympathy_ I waited so the rat's mother could say her goodbye. Which clearly, she's declined. My conscience is _clear_." Jafar moved again towards the house. He wanted Jasmine and to get the hell out, but Cyrus shoved Jafar by the shoulder to face him.

"You don't have a conscience! You don't have a merciful bone in your body. I was a fool to believe there was hope for you. For your wife. You're dead inside – a fiend, a degenerate foul creature." Large tears welled up in Cyrus' soft brown eyes. The wrinkles around them deepening. "What happened to the man I knew?"

Jafar took a threatening stance, speaking slow with deliberate control. "I've always been this. Its not my concern if you were too simple to realize it. Stand down."

Cyrus had defended Jafar long enough and it broke him deeply to recognize that everything he believed in was a lie. "I let you into my home because the man I knew still had a chance of being redeemed. He still wanted love. He wanted healing. Happiness." Cyrus held out his arms in prostration. "I opened my door to you. Allowed you the company of my family. To show you what you could've had. What is _still_ possible. But not if you continue down this path. You'll be lost forever!"

"You and Jasmine have a commonality." Jafar smirked but there was a twitch beneath his eye, "When will you understand I'm far from lost? That perchance it's _you_ who needs redemption."

"Think of _her_. Jasmine deserves more than you've given, more than you'll ever be able to give. You've doomed that girl to a lifetime of unfulfillment." Cyrus pleaded and Jafar erased the distance with one fail swoop. Magic radiated from the eyes of the snake staff as a final warning.

"I've had enough of your vile antidotes for my marriage, _Hebrew_. If you've any sense left at all you'll swallow them before I rip out your tongue as a stipulation."

Contrary to how shaken he was, Cyrus presented himself to be steady like a beating drum. "You're so blinded, Jafar. You believe your rage and all that power is what keeps you alive when in fact it's been killing you. Like a disease you infect those around you – you're infecting _Jasmine_. If you're not careful the sickness inside you will devour that woman." Brittlely he emphasized, "With you, Jasmine doesn't stand a chance."

Jafar's hand grew slick as it tightened around the staff. "Just because I haven't given my heart to some _wench," _Jafar's gravelly whisper rose into a full out roar, "And I couldn't give a fuck about you or your heathen family, does not give you the right -,"

"I have every right to tell you the truth. As your friend!"

"I will end your miserable existence!"

"As someone who cares about you –"

"I don't need your bullshit sentiment!"

"– Cares about Jasmine! Someone has to, because it's clear you never will!"

Their shouts layered on top of the other as indistinct babbling rage. Jafar swung a right hook knocking Cyrus square in the jaw. The brawny man was jolted then lunged forward with a swing of his own, knuckles cracking against Jafar's cheekbone.

Jasmine emerged just as the fists were thrown and her heart sank. The two men that'd been Jafar's assistants stood off to the side cheering on the brawl, while poor Malachi swayed where he stood, tied behind the black stallion. Clearly, she was on her own. Goat skinned boots carried Jasmine across the courtyard as she ran, shouting for them to stop; but she went unheard. When Jasmine reached the two men, she tried to pry them off the other and was nearly knocked down in the process.

_Allah almighty._ "Enough!"

Jasmine wedged herself between them and was struck in the face by an unidentified fist. As quick as a breath the brawl ceased. With concern Jafar took Jasmine's face in both hands and Cyrus rambled a frantic apology; but Jasmine wanted nothing to do with either of them. She shook both off to step indignantly away.

"You two are grown men and you're acting like wild animals! You should be ashamed of yourselves! No don't touch me!" Jasmine added, "_neither_ of you," when Cyrus made a gesture.

Her temple felt hot and swollen from the blow but she ignored it; drawing a calming breath. Jasmine felt like a damn mother scolding her two sons and wondered if Tzipporah ever felt disappointed like this with her children.

"I'm ready to leave." She had remained inimical towards both men since the night they brought Malachi here, and she wasn't going to stop now. With similar cold poise she also addressed Cyrus. "Please tell Tzipporah and the children I love them. Here." She held out a folded piece of parchment. "For them when they return."

The rotund man opened his mouth to say something but she didn't want to listen. Jasmine turned away, took the reigns from one of the brothers with a curt nod, and mounted the golden mare. Out of the corner of her eye Jasmine saw Jafar say something to Cyrus, though it was inaudible from this distance. It may have regarded Malachi, because Cyrus looked that direction then mournfully shook his head and headed towards the stone house. He entered and closed the door without looking back.

_Hopeless. _Jasmine thought painfully, closing her eyes.

It was time to return to Agrabah.

* * *

Vast desert sands drank the last warmth of sun as it disappeared behind the horizon. The makings of a fire were already in order as Jafar added kindling. Jasmine made up the bedding inside the royal tent, stalling long as possible before facing her husband. They'd not had much one on one the last week and Jasmine dreaded facing the opposition of conversation with the man. Still, there was little else to keep her busy within the pavilion and eventually she made a muted presence.

Around the pitted fire were large rocks, big and flat enough to suffice as seats. Jafar resided on the one in front of the tent so Jasmine moved to the one adjacent, secretly wishing they could have separate campsites. Roughly half a mile in distance, behind the tent, Malachi was bound to a dwarfed tree; the man too badly injured to even attempt an escape. All things considered it was unlikely he'd survive the night – especially without shelter or warmth.

Tundra winds escalated, slashing the air like spears of ice. Thankfully Jasmine had worn an extra layer of woolen garments in preparation, but the wintery desert gusts still nipped at her flesh. Jasmine had continued standing by her designated rock, facing Jafar and correspondingly the prisoner. She watched Malachi with a sick guilt as if she'd been the one to personally torture and bind him.

She pulled her head wrapping closer around her face as another gust assaulted them. Without question, Malachi wouldn't survive the night.

"You destroyed that family."

Jafar made no reply as her almond eyes zeroed in on him.

"Tzipporah may never return to Cyrus. He could have her killed for it. And Malachi . . ."

"That family was a leaning tower of deceit and destructive tendencies. I just tipped it in the direction it was already falling." Jafar tore apart the laffa, nursing the piece between his thumb in thought. "Cyrus deceived and hurt his family. Malachi turned his back on it. Tzipporah has secrets of her own, I'm sure. I merely used their collapse to my advantage. I'm hardly the problem."

"_Hardly _…" Jasmine recited and was met with a cold glare. Jafar popped the food into his mouth and she looked ahead again.

Wildlife skittered along the dense shrub, a cottontail maybe, or something far deadlier and venomous. A branch snapped in the other direction. Cicadas chirped with unremitting zinging and coyotes howled in the outlands. Danger lurked at every corner and Jasmine couldn't help but fear a more caustic enemy to be hunting them. Watching, waiting to strike. How could Jafar act so placid?

"You seem on edge, consider taking a seat." Jafar responded to her thoughts. "Eat some of these porridge cakes. It sounds repulsive but I assure you its surprisingly satisfactory." Jafar's smile became tight lipped when Jasmine remained impudent. "_Please_. For your sanity as well as mine; your fidgeting is driving me mad."

"We're out in the middle of nowhere exposed, _again_. Only this time with clear enemies out there and we've got one of their people with us as a prisoner, of course I'm on edge. I'll remain standing if I wish." The palms of her hands turned clammy beneath her fingertips. Jasmine mumbled, "And I'll fidget if I damn well want to."

"Has your faith in me diminished so vastly that you now doubt my powers as well? That I'd be incapable of protecting us from an ambush?"

"I'm doubting you've thought this through." Honestly, for someone so well read and scripted his behavior was dense. "I feel like the last three weeks have been fruitless and chaotic. We came here to find out where the Thieves were –"

"Which we have."

"What we _have_ is a hostage. I thought you meant to find out the Thieves location, then be the one to ambush them." Jasmine chopped the air with both hands in emphasis. "Not create an opportunity for them to trap us, take Malachi, and eliminate the threat _you_ pose." Exasperated Jasmine let out a spluttering groan. "Unlike Cyrus who so easily tossed his son away, the Thieves are Malachi's family – _someone_ will come for him."

A gravelly chuckle came from her husband causing Jasmine's blood to simmer. "No one is coming."

"Malachi _said_ they're a family."

"_Family_ is a vastly loose terminology, much like morality or love. It's form bends to each situation, each motive and desire according to the individuals involved. In your mind, dear wife, family means a bond unbreakable but to people like the King of Thieves it's another term for hierarchy; a way of controlling emotions, ties, allegiance, all for self-serving matters." He said airily with a tick of the mouth. "And I can assure you Malachi falls grossly at the bottom of said pyramid. Sit, Jasmine. Eat. Don't need you fainting and adding more dead weight to travel with."

Jafar held up a piece of bread and Jasmine dramatized the four steps it took to get to him, snatched it away angrily, then turned back to look out at the blackened horizon. She held her stomach with one arm while turning the morsel over and again until it turned crumbly from the oils in her fingers. She had no appetite – especially not while Malachi was denied food for several days now.

**Is that not what he deserves? **

No sooner was there a disembodied voice than Jasmine was pulled back to the day of the attack. On replay were the screams of agony, the roar of unrelenting flames, the buildings as they crashed down on top of people, on top of Ummah as Jasmine was pulled away. There was blood, her own mixed with that of her people. She was petrified, destitute. Her veins were drained of blood even as her heart pounded like a mallet. The Thieves leader was there again, mocking her, this time Aladdin was there too, and Malachi; all privy to the torment caused by their hands.

**They deserve death. Kill him.**

At the familiar growl she'd felt from her sleep Jasmine opened her eyes with a sharp inhale. Jasmine couldn't fight the onset of a cold sweat, like she'd reawaken from some nightmare she couldn't remember. She squeezed herself for comfort.

"Something you care to get off your mind?" Jafar's rumbling purr flustered her. She'd nearly forgotten he was there.

"It's nothing."

"I wish I could believe you, but alas my dear you look as though you just stood outside the gates of hell." Jafar said flatly then pulled a concerned frown. "Jasmine . . . you look like death."

"Charming." Jasmine half-heartedly laughed and shook the humor away. "I'm fine. I've just had some . . . bad dreams lately, is all."

"About?"

Giving one last glance towards the prisoner Jasmine relented, sitting uneasily by the fire while attempting to rub feeling back into her thighs.

"At least I think I've had bad dreams. I don't fully remember any of them – I just know I wake up with this sinking feeling. Like I've . . . _died_? Like something forgotten from my past. Or maybe it's my future." She scoffed uneasily, "It sounds ridiculous, I know."

"I disagree. Dreams can be powerful because they occur while we are most vulnerable." Jafar held his jaw with the 'L' shape of his thumb and pointer. "Is that what's upset you just now? Did you remember a nightmare?"

_In a manner of speaking, yes._ Jasmine studied him for any hint of mendacity and though slightly warmed by his sincerity, held back a smile. "Actually, I was just now thinking about the day of the fires. How it all happened . . . whether or not Malachi deserves this."

His eyes held an uncertain warmth. "Care to share?"

"I umm..."

Jasmine faltered, swaying her knees in a side to side fashion as she held her hands between them. The fire cackled, popping like pebbles scattered into a stream. Her _heart_ felt like pebbles; tiny stones tossed pell-mell into cold dark water. Impossible to ever find again, forever hidden and forgotten. The attack on Agrabah was just one cause of that, and the more Jasmine thought about that day the more she'd come to realize where the true blame lied.

She couldn't stop the rush of words.

"Jafar . . . I knew the Thieves were coming to Agrabah the day before the attack happened. I visited Ummah. Its when she told me about you and my moth– _Sahara_. I didn't know if I should believe her, she was drunk, saying crazy things. But it wasn't just that . . . I thought I could handle the threat on my own. I didn't think it was – that is I didn't come to you because I . . . I hated you so much. I didn't want to run to you for anything. Especially for help or council. You were my enemy for so long. Because of _me_ Agrabah paid the price. And now Malachi is paying it too."

Jasmine waited for an uproar to ensue. For magic to strike her down, or worse, a mighty fist. At the very least Jasmine expected Jafar to jump to his feet with irate sadistic intent. Instead he spoke with uncharacteristic calm; as if he'd already guessed and was only relieved she finally admitted she'd been wrong to withhold the information.

"Did you set fire to those buildings? Did you cut down Mohamed and countless families like his? Did you murder Ummah? Then you're not who I blame." Jafar's eyes creased as he concentrated on the soothing fire. "Jasmine I know why you were injured. You fought to save that boorish woman from a collapsing building. Nearly gave your life for hers and I know you would've for any one of our people."

The brim of her eyes felt hot. Jafar's large dark eyes locked with hers.

"You are a good woman. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. And for that man out there. What's done is done. Mm?" Jafar perceived her silence as acquiescent comply and took in a chest full of fresh air. "You can give him water. Nothing more. I'll be right here if you need . . . assistance."

Jasmine had already jumped to her feet with the canteen and was headed for Malachi before Jafar could finish.

* * *

The further from the fire's heat the denser the air became. Solid like a block of ice. It became difficult to move let alone breathe; all the more reason Malachi needed her. Lifelessly he was slumped forward held upright only by the bindings of the rope. Jasmine hesitated, swallowing with a dry throat as she pulled the sack off his head. Malachi's eyes were swollen shut, gashes and bruises decorating his face and neck. She didn't have to imagine the damage done to the rest of his body, honestly, she didn't want to.

"Malachi?" Her soft voice was hardly audible above the wind so she tried again louder. At his unresponsiveness Jasmine resorted to touch him. The second she did, however, Malachi snapped at the neck and thrashed wildly as if possessed. Jasmine jumped backwards with pulse frantically thrumming in her head. From the campsite Jafar shot up in alert but she gave him a simple nod signaling her safety. Malachi shouted incoherently before the efforts drained him entirely and he fell back into a comatose state; barely strong enough to draw another breath. It was a heart wrenching sight.

From afar Jasmine gave Jafar a pleading look.

_He needs warmth and shelter._

Reading her with ease Jafar gave a resounding 'no' by slowly shaking his head. Jasmine countered by dramatically dropping her shoulders, but Jafar remained adamant in his decision then made a come-here-motion with his finger.

_Fine don't help. But I'm not gonna let him die out here._ Jasmine said with just her body language and Jafar narrowed his eyes in response. She turned to tend to Malachi.

Jasmine removed the extra layer of clothing and wrapped it around Malachi's body like a blanket. She used the crumbly piece of bread she'd been holding and placed tiny pieces of it on Malachi's tongue, which he swallowed with some difficulty, and offered slow sips of water in between each miniscule bite. When there was nothing left she could do for him, and she felt half frozen herself, Jasmine stood to go.

A croaked noise came Malachi's raked vocals. The sheer effort it took for him to speak must've been pure hell. Jasmine returned to his side, squatting down to better hear him.

Swollen eyelids barely lifted as he repeated, "Leech."

Jasmine's face dropped. _Who was a leech? _

"You," Malachi answered.

"How am _I_ a leech?" What the hell was his problem? She wasn't the one who beat and bound him. Contrarily she was the only reason he'd live to see morning. "I'm the only one trying to help you, Malachi. In spite of what you did to my people."

Each time he spoke it was chopped and breathless, but Jasmine could make out enough of what was said.

"You only want to help yourself. That's why. You feed off people's miseries by doing good deeds for them. It gives you value. Makes you feel better about yourself. Never mind what happens when you look away, so long as you did something 'nice.' You feed off others weaknesses by inserting yourself where you don't belong. Pretending to want to fix, redeem. You're a blood sucking leech."

Her stomach twisted in knots, tongue digging into the pits of her teeth as she listened. "I'll check on you again if I can. T-try and bring you some fire."

"You're just like Cyrus. You're no fucking saint. Save your handouts. Bitch."

"What the hell is your problem!" Jasmine shouted now, standing above him. He would have to fight through the pain if he wanted to insult her. Which apparently, he did and found the task worth it. Though hoarsely, he even laughed.

"You really don't see it do you? You think you're such a victim. Helpless heroine in all of this. An innocent princess with no say, little options. Aladdin was right about you . . . Lilura was right too."

"I don't even know who that is."

"She knows you – your family. Said you're deceitful like your father and a wicked whore like your mother."

She broke with a defensive roar. "My father is a good and decent man. Something you know nothing about. As for my mother – I don't have to explain anything to some murderous thug! I came over here to help you because that's who I am!"

"You don't know who you are. But I do. Lilura does." Malachi looked at her with pure hatred. "See that's what makes you worse than people like me; even people like Jafar. You hide behind those baby doe eyes and that innocent smile when deep inside you're really a fucked-up demon yourself. Least 'murderous thugs' like me admit to what we are."

"Fuck you." Jasmine breathed; too caught up to notice Jafar's rapid approach.

"Ask your warped husband about what your mother really was. About your father. Even he knows I'm right. He knows the fucked-up bloodline which you come from. Its embedded in you – you're not fighting the darkness you're drawn to it…"

Jafar bashed Malachi in the head with his staff knocking him unconscious and yet the real damage had been done to Jasmine.

"What was he talking about, Jafar?"

Jafar re-sacked Malachi's head then grabbed jasmine under the arm and lead her back to the camp fire.

"He talked about Lilura again. That she knew my mother _and_ father. What was he talking about? Jafar, _please_."

"That's the last time I allow you to do something against my instincts." Jafar murmured bitterly, pulling off his overcoat to drape around Jasmine's small body, then fetched another for himself. He wrapped Jasmine in his arms to provide warmth but she frantically struggled away.

"Tell me what's going on and don't you dare lie again. I know you know who Lilura is; there's more you haven't been telling me and now it involves both my parents and I demand an explanation right now!"

Jafar wore a pensive expression, looking down at her with solid eyes then up at the horizon as if it held the answers for what he should say next. There was clear confliction, Jasmine could read, but after a mitigated exhale Jafar had decided.

Jafar extended a palm for Jasmine to take a seat but she declined. Bending, Jafar smoothed the front of his chest as he sat, carrying himself in a way that made the boulder look like a throne. "Yes. I _have_ lied. I know who Lilura is because . . . Sahara was her apprentice."

That did require Jasmine to sit down. On arms that rested atop her thighs Jasmine leaned forward with reticent intrigue. Jafar licked his lips then tugged at the length of his beard before continuing. He was in no way ready for what was sure to follow.

"Sahara wasn't always a sorceress. When she was your age she was married to Hamed and discontent with her life. She met a witch in the streets of Agrabah."

"Lilura."

He gave a confirmational nod. "As Sahara's power grew so did her lust for more of it. She wanted to be perpetual like Lilura, which was impossible. Lilura is not . . . entirely human. Rather something _else_. Ancient. Lilura told Sahara an erroneous lie: that in order to become immortal she needed to violate the purity of her soul by practicing blood magic. At that time Sahara had become pregnant. Eventually, she lost herself even to a point that I did not recognize her. She desecrated anything that was pure to get a taste of what Lilura promised.

The obsession to live eternal made her soul blacker than ever. It's one of the reasons I searched for the djinns lamp. So that she could _wish_ for immortality rather than lose her soul with blood magic. Though I now know that wouldn't have worked either." Jafar broke the intensity of his stare for the first time since speaking. A wave of covert emotions flickering across his features.

"I couldn't stop her, Jasmine. When you were old enough Sahara had turned her rituals to the purest blood she could find. _Yours_."

"That's not possible." Jasmine sat defensively stiff. "Look, I've come to accept the fact that my mother was a sorceress, that she made poor choices but to say she was a blood harvesting witch who . . . _what_? Cut me? That never happened."

"It did."

"I would remember something like that."

"Not if it traumatized you." The pained sincerity in those black eyes were too validating to deny. Still she tried.

"How would you know unless you were there when it happened. Were you part of it too?"

"_No_. Jasmine. I am many things but even I have morals which Sahara surpassed in the end. When I knew she'd began using you in her rituals I made sure Hamed found the truth for himself."

"Now I'm supposed to believe you're the hero in this tale?" Her face heated with a flash of anger. "And Baba? What accusation will you make against him!?"

The muscles of his jaw flexed as did his neck. This was pointless, she'd never believe him anyway but damnit there was even less reason to hide it anymore. "To protect you Hamed murdered Sahara in cold blood."

That was it. She was done listening. "You're a _liar_." Her jaw opened rolling to one side as she smiled ironically. "You're a lying, _bastard_. You just can't stop trying to hurt me, can you?"

His eyes blackened. "You asked for the truth and I gave it to you."

"Why the hell should I believe you! You hate my Baba. You'd do and say anything right now to keep my spirits crushed so you can keep control. I thought you cared for me, just for an _instant_ when you were driveling on in those caves about how you need me, but now I know Cyrus was right. There is no hope between us. There never was any. Why are you so cruel!?"

Jafar stood as she did, squaring his chest with poorly retained patience. "There's many cruel things in this world Jasmine but my honesty hardly counts as one of them."

"Then why not tell me sooner? Years ago!"

"I kept those secrets because they were not mine to reveal. It was better for you to remember Sahara as a good loving woman and your father as a guiltless man than to know the ugly truth."

"My life was never filled with all this 'ugliness' until you came into it!"

"Like it or not sweetheart you've been living in it your entire life; blinded by the very shadows around you. I brought you out of it because I'm the only one decent enough to do you the favor. In spite of the hurt it causes."

"Don't patronize me, you _want_ this. You want me hurt!"

"I want you to be strong!" he bellowed, slicing the air with his gestures. "You keep waiting for everything to finally be perfect then break down in tears and fall apart when it's not. You're searching for a line to separate good and evil, but there isn't one. There is only ever the interpretation of _survival. _I despise Hamed for what he did but I recognize why he did it! Until you accept the fact that everyone will eventually disappoint you, you'll remain lost and angry for all the wrong reasons."

"I'm angry at _you_!"

"Because I revealed the truth!? That your father took away your mother; a woman who not only fucked prostitutes and her husband's vizier, but practiced the blackest magic known to man using their little girl as a vital part of those rituals." Jafar briefly clenched his hands then ran large knuckles over his jawline. "You ask for truth but then you _snap_ at the slightest gust of it's weight." He snapped his fingers near her face.

Jasmine trembled in anxiety and the onset of a headache throbbed in her temples. He was right. She should just accept. Adapt. Move on. But this was no longer under control.

"You knew Lilura... Which means you knew she was with the Thieves this entire time. **_You_** betrayed Agrabah. You knew they were coming that day, didn't you? That's why you left that morning."

Jafar looked murderous and nauseous by the accusation yet Jasmine was unrelenting.

"Even if not, you still knew where to find the Thieves. You brought us out here because they have something you want, something you couldn't get without Malachi. You've been torturing him for information, not about the Thieves hideout, but for a _thing_. An object, a relic, maybe another fucking lamp! If anything, _you_ are the one who would sell your soul to Lilura to become immortal! _You_ are the one who would cut me, use my blood for a ritual and kill my mother in the process! You're a greedy, slimy, cunt!"

"That's enough!" Jafar screeched from his gut and she surpassed his ugliness with her own.

"You'll stop at nothing to take what isn't yours! My mother! The Genie! My Father's throne! Cyrus' Son! _Me_! You're a pitiful human being; it's no wonder your own mother **beat and despised you. She saw how ugly you were the minute you were born and wanted to kill you! You're a hollow shell of ****_nothing_**** and you don't deserve ****_love_****. You don't deserve ****_anything _****but death!"**

Jafar's face fell and Jasmine blinked rapidly with a tightening chest.

_Oh Allah. _That was not her voice. They were not her words. But they'd come from her mouth all the same. Maybe they were feelings she'd harbored in the angriest part of her heart, but never something she would've dared give life to. And now she had, and despite how desperately she wanted to take it back, it couldn't be done.

"Jafar I –."

"Is that why you continue throwing yourself on my cock little whore?" Jafar growled, pain lacing the venom in his retort. "Deny it all you wish mouse, but you are drawn to the blackness inside of me because you're clearly fucked up like I am. Unsurprising considering who spawned you. I must say, I never saw it until _just_ now . . . you're the _spitting_ image of Sahara. I only wish I'd seen it before. I'd have never married you."

God that hurt more than anything else had up to now. **You deserve it. **

Weakly she whispered, "I don't want you near me."

"Couldn't agree more," Jafar bit behind clenched teeth. She rushed past him and he closed his eyes tightly. A sinking weight in his stomach at the realization. He headed off in the opposite direction.

Inside the tent Jasmine sat numbly on the bedding. Everything that led up to this point raced through her mind. Playing again on a loop, combing through the details of how things had turned so ugly so fast. Her father killed her mother. Her mother nearly killed her. Jafar had nothing to do with either of those facts yet she blamed him for all of it.

Worse. She used his weakness against him. Confirming everything that evil woman fed him in his youth: he was worthless, unloved, ugly. Out of hurt she hurt him. Again. Maybe evil wasn't so black and white. There was too much in between and Jasmine stood in the threshold of both worlds.

Her body shook in jittering spurts as she tried to catch her breath. Malachi was right. She no longer knew who she was.

Nothing would ever be the same again. She wasn't sure she wanted it to be.

* * *

Jafar tossed Malachi over the back of his steed, the boy still unconscious from the blow to the head, then mounted swiftly and took off. He rode the horse hard, the animal's legs nearly giving out a few times at Jafar's relentless commands. It was the middle of the night when Jafar arrived at a village near Jerusalem.

Jafar led the horse down an alley of drab clay houses. The loud sotto prattling of women stemmed from the home he approached; seconds later Tzipporah emerged from her sister's house. Jafar could see Hadassah peeking out the door before another woman pulled her back inside.

"Tzipporah." Jafar droned dully as they met.

*Whack* She fixed him with the flat of her palm.

"What have you done to my son!" Tzipporah pointed to the unconscious, bloodied, body. Her eyes puffy from nights of crying. "I asked for your _help_! Beating my child was never part of the deal."

"Perhaps if you'd beaten him more often he'd not have grown into such a wild little shit."

Jafar retorted with a sneer and she swatted him across the other side of his face. Apparently tonight was the night to invoke the wrath of women. Jafar's frustration pushed his innermost psychosis to the surface; but he kept morality in place.

"I fail to see the problem. Your son attacked _my_ city. I'm within every right to slaughter him, and your entire family in the process, should I so please." Flinty eyes probed her worried ones. "_You_ reached out to me _behind_ your husband's back."

Which was true. Years ago, after Cyrus had written Jafar regarding his broken family, Tzipporah too had sent a letter of her own. She had suspicions regarding what happened between Cyrus, Malachi and Mirela, but could never openly accuse her husband. Knowing Jafar had been Cyrus' oldest friend, she asked for help. Humbly, Tzipporah pleaded that Jafar get Cyrus to reveal the truth and more importantly, get her son back from the Thieves. Like Cyrus' letter, Tzipporah's had gone unanswered. Until three weeks ago when Jafar finally saw any profit from being involved. Now he was delivering on that promise, even though there were a million reasons to betray it.

"Be grateful I found the slightest motivation to even visit that poor dung hole you call a home." Jafar rose a brow peering condescendingly at the women who helped carry Malachi down off the steed. It took four of them to do it, despite how thin the boy was. Jafar faced around again. "Though it appears I drew the short straw of our arrangement."

"You promised not to kill him! Look at him! He's as good as dead!"

Jafar bowed his head to level with her height. "_You_ promised your son would be invaluable. Which he was _not_. He held no credible intel about the artifact I'm after, nor did he know where the Thieves treasure cove is hidden. Clearly, he's as untrustworthy to them as he is to your husband." Broad shoulders drew back in regality. "Cyrus is fine by the way – I know he informed you of Malachi's attack. And even as he wrote with a bleeding heart, beseeching your return, you failed to so much as send a response." Jafar rocked a long finger side to side. "Very cold-hearted, Tzipporah."

"I couldn't write to him yet! He'd kill me to know I went behind his back; I can't lie to him anymore either." Tzipporah watched shakily as her mangled son was carried past her and into the house. Tzipporah's tiny frame suddenly felt ten feet tall as she whirled around on Jafar. "I should never have trusted you to do the right thing. You're a snake! Vile wretch!"

"Tell me woman, did your husband not finally confess to the travesty he committed? Did you not get your son back after all these _wasted_ years? The way I see it without my help Cyrus never would have felt compelled to tell you the shameful truth. And if he hadn't confessed you wouldn't have had the justification to leave. Thereby breaking him apart and shattering his pride; leaving him in such a desperate state, he did the one thing he swore never to do: reach out to Malachi. The way I see it, a few bruises and busted knee caps is a small price to pay for the closure I've brought your family." Jafar's thin tongue flicked between flattened lips. "Feel free to show a little gratitude."

Tzipporah punched him straight in the mouth causing some blood to coat the inside of his lip.

Tzipporah's plain features were twisted as she huffed through her nose. "There is your gratitude."

Jafar rolled his jaw forward. With sheer amusement he said, "On the bright side only _one_ of your children is a criminal; though I've little expectations for how the others fare." Tzipporah scrunched the sides of her dress seething and marched towards the house. "I've hope for Opal though." Jafar added when the door slammed shut and he chuckled, nursing his jaw.

"Teach her to hit like that and she'll be in good standing." He murmured, then mounted the stallion, yanking its reigns so it turned back the way they'd come. He was purely exhausted but there was one more stop to make.

* * *

A caravan similar to a little house came into view directly by the Jordan river. Four burly men were placed around the outside like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades. Jafar would find no trouble with them. His gait was done in fast strides as he moved past their unmoving forms, up the measly steps and into the home. Inside, the caravan was elegantly decrepit, smelling of incense and herbs of the world. It was vastly larger within than it was on the outside, with tall ceilings and a single hallway that ran deep into a black corridor of nothingness. It was cluttered, musty, and overall made Jafar highly uneasy. A witch's home through and through.

"_Jafar_." Lilura purred his name like a cat in heat, rising gracefully from a depressed sofa.

Jafar's honeyed smile widened with erroneous welcome. "The lovely Lilura." Then with crisp precision Jafar snatched the woman by her throat and squeezed with homicidal intent.

Fear stricken Lilura's eyes widened then she gave a warped grin. "Skipping straight to the foreplay," Lilura breathlessly crooned. "I like that."

Jafar constricted with such vehemence his fingertips sank into her skin. "You've been inside my wife's head, haven't you? Creating nightmares as you feed on her mind and plant thoughts that are not her own."

"I don't know what you're talk –." Lilura wheezed, complexion forming purple blotches.

"She's been screaming in her sleep! And tonight, she was so ugly hearted that I didn't _even_ _recognize her_!"

"Is it not your own doing? Afterall I'd never be able to get inside that pretty little head had you not split it wide open. I merely feasted off your handiwork for a little fun." Dragon green orbs scanned his twisted expression. "But that's hardly the real cause of your outrage with me."

Well it was the most prominent but that did lead to the next issue.

With a skin-tight smile Jafar growled, "I find it ironic that in our conversations the last two months you failed to mention you were hiding among the Thieves."

"It was none of your business."

"You've fucked with what I hold most dear, so that's precisely what it is, dearie." Jafar squeezed tighter, magic forming into a ball in his hands out of uncontrolled rage than actual intention. "Here's what I think happened. After the djinn enhanced my powers you finally saw me as competition and thought you could send scumbags after me to eliminate the threat I now pose."

He could feel the skin of her neck melting in his palm. Within a minute her head would be severed from her body.

She screeched like metal fatigue. "Speculation . . . You know you can trust me."

"When you run your mouth like a dog with a scolded tongue you tend to lose credibility. I'm starting to think this alliance has run its course." Because of the Djinn Jafar was nearly as powerful as she was.

"**Is this really how you want it to go**?" It now sounded like an entity no longer able to imitate a human voice. "**You know I can't die**."

"Not indefinitely, but that doesn't mean you can't feel pain. If I find out you're lying I will bleed you dry, starve you, tear out your innards and start all over again." Jafar shook his mighty fist. Then, before her neck fully dissolved he released her with a toss, her slender body crumpling on the sofa.

The creature's sucking inhale sounded like a collection of animal noises coined together. Lilura held what remained of her throat, the tendons and skin a disfigured slimy mess. Jafar cleaned off his hand with a wave of the other and watched disgusted as Lilura's wounds began to close and regenerate to healthy beautiful flesh.

Jafar felt queasy. _Foul_.

"That was hardly called for." Lilura said in that fruitful voice as she dusted herself off. As if near decapitation was as forgivable as a flea bite. She made way around an apothecary desk, using magic to conjure two cups and pour hot water over a type of herb Jafar didn't recognize.

He would _not_ be drinking that.

"You seem more agitated than usual." Lilura smiled in that soul devouring way.

_No shit?_ "You _lied_ to me and _invaded_ my wife's _mind_." Jafar reiterated as he sat across her with staff securely in hand. Her archaic eyes flashed to it then to the cup of tea.

"Besides that." She waved it away, "I sense some trouble in paradise, pet. Jasmine unable to fulfill your darkest fantasies? She's too vanilla for you."

"I can't _fathom_ a situation in which that would ever be any of your business." Jafar declared silkily. "I've held up my end of our agreement now I want what you promised me." And to get the hell out of there.

"How is that impish little friend of yours? Abis Mal wasn't it? He was caught snooping around the Thieves quarters for their treasure cove."

He remained indifferent at best, barely rising his brows.

"He said you asked him to find it and search for some _orb _or _necklace_? Details were hard to make out over his screams of agony – the scourge sucked his soul right out before I could get a definitive answer." Her eyes shifted to the color of brimstone, her mouth growing unnaturally wide as she angelically froze. "Now who's the one being deceptive?"

Too much time passed for comfort with her not blinking. Jafar gave nothing away shoving down every instinct to shoot the witch down and run.

Lilura chuckled, eyes returning to normalcy as did her smile. "Don't look so serious, pet. I know what you've been after. You think that if you find it you can defy the laws of magic and in turn defeat monsters like myself. You're hardly the first to search for that mythical relic. I don't take it offensive." A sharp shoulder rolled forward. "Especially since I can save you the trouble and tell you the Thieves never did have it nor know where it is."

That was somewhat of a relief. At least that meant Lilura still didn't know where it was either.

"As far as my correlation with the Thieves goes, I thought they'd provide some use to me for a short time. But it had nothing to do with Agrabah – Roel had his own agenda. One that bored me. Unimaginative insipid casualties, settling scores with old enemies..." Lilura made a talking motion with her hand as she finished the last of the tea.

"I have it on good authority _you_ were the weapon the Thieves were planning to use against me." Jafar inclined with businesslike casualty.

Lilura cackled in a horrifying yet lovely manner. "How absurd. That sounds like Aladdin's work to me. Spreading rumors to try and win back that woman of his. Oh, excuse me. _Your_ woman. No doubt he also declared his love for her thereby offering the only thing he thinks she wants. Your head."

"You've been with Aladdin." He ignored the rest.

Lilura sat back in the high-backed chair pressing the tip of her tongue to drag along the line of her top teeth; a glint in her eyes.

"Ah," Jafar smiled in acknowledgment. "You have him then?"

"I have him."

"What do you want for him?"

"Shh shh shh, let's not get ahead of ourselves. We've still old business to close before we speak of new business."

From his chest pocket Jafar languidly pulled out the book he'd confiscated from Jasmine and held it for Lilura. Her tongue stuck out the corner of her mouth as anxious talons itched to snatch the book then fell empty handed when Jafar yanked it back.

"I know every single item in my tower straight down to the crack in its mortar and I've never seen this before. How did _Jasmine_ find it in my things?"

Lilura wrinkled her nose ever delighted to impart information he lacked. (Which was rare, he might add.)

"Like all magic _this_ is its own living breathing entity, formed _centuries_ before my time."

"Nonsense." His ankle crossed over a knee. "Despite the infirmity of old age, you don't look a day over a millennium."

"It _chose_ her," Lilura snapped at the slight, stabbing the table with overgrown fingernails. "Just as it has chosen others in the past. When Jasmine sought to clear her mother's name of scandal, and by extension yours, _it_ found _her_. Only ever appearing to someone with pure heart and selfless intention it's eluded me all these ages. Until now."

With only the faintest hint of a smile Jafar released an intense laugh. "I'm growing _infinitely_ more curious as to how precious this tattered thing really is. Clearly valued far above what you originally let on, no doubt."

His narrowed eyes twitched when Lilura made no delay to conjure up a small scroll and slid it over for him. That _was_ what they had agreed upon. The scroll in exchange for the book. But Lilura was too eager therefore Jafar wanted more for his troubles.

"The stone and beacon as well."

Her thinly plastered eyebrow waggled at the mention of the two innocuous objects but Lilura held back any riposte. "Done."

He wasn't. "And to get back on my good graces I want the Thieves, hand delivered by you to save me trouble and prove you're no longer associated. _Right now_."

Lilura rolled her neck with a salacious exhale. "I hoped you would. Walk this way, won't you, ófis*?" Lilura led the way out the side door of the cottage, a train of dark green undertones dragging behind her nimble feet.

Cries of terror tickled his ears like a symphony before he even reached the edge of the cliff and peered down. By the hundreds there were men dressed in that dark blue a black dressing he'd come to abhor. They clawed at the dirt, screeching in vain for help. Jafar felt Lilura's arm slip in the crook of his. He was so elated at the gift she'd offered he didn't even mind the contact.

"May I watch? It's been so long since I've seen something truly vile."

It was sick and pathetic he knew, but that acknowledgment, the acceptance for him to be who he was without judgmental condemnation gave Jafar a sense of peace. He didn't have to hide behind a mask out of fear for who he'd hurt in the process. He could just be himself.

Sneering, Jafar upturned a hooked hand, magic bubbling, gathering like white fire in the palm of his hand. He thrust it out and the magic shattered like fireworks in the sky before raining down into the pit of men. Upon contact their skin began to bubble. Like boiling water, the Thieves burned slowly, from the inside out. They began clawing at their skin, tearing out their eyes, ripping open their chests in frantic hallucination to make the pain cease. One by one they killed themselves, dying off like ants burned with glass. Lilura admired his work with content silence and opted to even kiss his cheek in celebration.

Jafar mutedly handed over the book and she the small artifacts he requested.

"I'm ready to make a deal for the street rat." Jafar said turning away with Lilura as they headed back towards his stallion. A skeletally hand rubbed his forearm, up his bicep and back again, the touch making his skin crawl.

"In time love. You have something I'll want; _eventually_. And when that time comes you'll know."

Jafar didn't like the sound of that but bit his tongue on the matter. He faced her unlatching her hooks from his arm and accepted a kiss on the cheek, then the lips. Jafar grimaced as her tongue pried his lips apart, the taste bitter sweet then metallic as she bit down on his tongue. Such wanton pain would've usually aroused him but it didn't now. Not after having someone like Jasmine.

"Give your princess my regards? Let her know I thoroughly enjoy the taste of her husband." Lilura held him by the back of the neck. "Until next time, pet."

Jafar gave a lustful little smirk. Using the length of his staff he pressed Lilura to him and wound a fistful of her hair in the other hand. "Let me clue you in on a secret, _pet._"

Lilura hummed, rolling her sex against his.

"If you ever mess with my wife again**_ . . . I will fucking destroy you_**." Jafar ripped the back of her hair, pulling a chunk of it out of her skull and her eyes flashed to a threatening ice blue. "If I so much as catch a _whiff_ of your stench on her there's no rock you can hide under nor forces of hell that will protect you from me. I will cut you down and send you back to the pit of hell which you crawled out of."

"I liked you better when you were Sahara's _bitch_." She hissed, neck craning so far back it was likely to snap.

Jafar merely sneered, "glad we have an understanding," then shoved the creature violently away. He stood regally, hands clasped around his staff in preparation for a fight.

"You won't be able to keep her forever. We both know that. And the harder you hold on the harder it's going to come back and bite you in the _dick_."

His chest tightened but Jafar gave no inclination of the quavering in his gut. With a sharp flick Lilura, her men and carriage, vanished.

It was finished. For now, at least.

* * *

That morning Jasmine awoke to an empty tent. From the looks of it Jafar never came in and she'd fallen asleep by crying. Her eyes were heavily swollen and by the feel of crusted skin it was likely a combination of drool and snot had dried around her mouth. Thank Allah Jafar wasn't there after all. She hurried to make herself presentable, licking the edge of her wool shirt to wipe away the marks on her face. She'd kill for a hot bath and couldn't wait to get home today.

Jasmine tied her hair in a braid smoothing the wild hairs best she could before hunger got the best of her and drug her outside. It was barely dawn and Jafar was nowhere to be seen. Jasmine struck up the fire and started eating one of the fruit porridge cakes as she combed over, for the hundredth time, how she would apologize for last night.

She could fix this. They were so close to a breakthrough in their marriage just a week ago and she wanted to get there again. It was a manner of life or death at this point.

Honey whinnied from her post and Jasmine looked in the opposing direction to see Jafar riding their way. The black stallion whinnied back and Honey reared up in excitement. Jasmine made her way meeting Jafar as he dismounted.

"Did you leave me here alone all night?" The accusation was more out of fear than anger. He gave a cold sideways glance. "What about robbers, thugs, the Thieves?"

"I cast a shield over the camp last night. I'm not a _fool_."

Jasmine pulled a face opting for a less reproving tone. "Where did you go?"

Jafar sneered callously as if she lost the right to ask questions. "I returned Malachi to Safed."

_Truly_? "Alive?" She hadn't even thought to check in on him, she'd been too wrapped up in her own issues. "Why would you do that?"

"We're leaving. Now." Jafar took up his staff and within a blink of an eye the provisions, tent, and even the fire was cleaned up and packed away. He hardly never used his magic like that. Not for something so trivial; it was unnerving.

"You're in a hurry. You seem anxious. Something wrong? Jafar wait. . ." Jasmine touched his arm and he looked at her hand as if it held a weapon. She slipped her fingers down, lacing them with his and drew closer. "About last night."

They each rushed their words to layer over the other's.

"There's nothing to discuss."

"I was wrong."

Jasmine waywardly smiled repeating, "I was wrong. How I responded to all of this, to Malachi even. Jafar its been so difficult to give up the life I knew – the life I thought I always had. To discover neither of my parents were who I thought . . . it makes me unsure of who I am. What the right choice is anymore."

Allah this was embarrassing but she persevered.

"Jafar you've been trying to change lately. In fact, you've changed so much the last five months. I have too . . . in good and bad ways I suppose. What I'm trying to say is I do care for you. More than I ever thought possible. I admire your honesty and ability to keep secrets to protect others. You didn't have to tell me the truth and you did . . .I never should have blamed you for doing that. It was good and decent of you. I needed to hear it and I don't think I could get through that if I didn't have you." She squeezed his hand stepping closer and she felt him draw a sharp breath. "I do trust you –"

"– I poisoned your father," Jafar interjected dead eyed.

Her smile went stiff in an effort not to fall apart. Jafar withdrew from her touch allowing her hands to fall dead weighted at her sides.

"By the time Hamed announced your engagement to Aladdin I had already been slipping poison into his drinks for some time. The same poison he used to kill your mother only I used small doses to make the effects gradual. I wanted him to suffer, slowly, before a final death."

The decorative lines of Jafar's thobe turned into blobbed shapes as her vision blurred; his voice becoming muffled as the shock set in.

"The only reason Hamed is still alive is because I stopped medicating him before you ran away. Regardless, the damage had already been done and his current health is a result. Previously I decided to let you keep your father because I wanted added leverage over you. But I don't want that anymore. In fact, I stopped wanting that ever since I nearly lost you to your injuries. I want you to have your father because I know you'd be devastated to lose the only man you love."

"Why –." Weakly she cleared her throat. "Why do that to him knowing he was protecting me?"

The question took him slightly off guard but required little thought. "I may have detested _plenty_ about Sahara but she was the first and _only_ person to ever tell me I had _value_. I owe everything I am, my very life, to that woman. Hamed stole her in a cowardly way so I repaid him on her behalf."

"And now you've stolen him away from me." Sluggishly the awareness set it, as did a slew of emotions. "You left me a _vessel_. He's not my Baba. He doesn't even know who I am. He's constantly in pain. Confused. Scared. Its crueler than if you'd actually taken his life." Jasmine's neck corded, the back of her throat burning as she sucked down a cultivating scream.

"Jasmine – I truly regret how this has hurt you." he struggled with such deference, but did mean it.

"Then undo it."

"I can't."

"_Why_."

The anguish in her voice penetrated Jafar at his heart. "Magic is not that simple, Jasmine. I would if there was a way but –."

Jasmine snatched a sword hanging from the belt of the stallion and aimed the blade at Jafar's heart. He didn't move to stop her.

"Put it down. Before you hurt yourself."

The blade shot up to his jugular forcing his head higher. Jafar peered evenly down at Jasmine for any trace of Lilura's forces at work. There were none. It was solely the carnage of his wife's broken heart.

"Give me one good reason not to kill you."

A baritone chuckle rumbled from Jafar's chest and she pressed the tip against his skin.

"Out of all the threats made against my life, not once have I begged for it. I'm sure as hell not starting today."

Jasmine's sureness cracked, her hands trembling so violently she feared she'd cut him on accident. What sort of daughter was she to let Baba's attacker go unpunished? What sort of person would she be to kill her husband? It begged the question which one was more justifiable. Either way she betrayed someone, betrayed herself. She loved Baba but she had feelings, no matter how unconventional, for Jafar. There was blame all around. No one was guiltless in this, which made the decision that much more clouded.

_That'd been in the beginning too. So much has changed since then. Jafar's not the same man anymore. _

_That doesn't make it right._ Jasmine struggled inwardly.

_Neither does killing him. _

Jafar had ample time to disarm her. Hell, he could do it with just a flick of the wrist. But he allowed her this choice without malice or resentment. Jasmine's elbows dropped, slightly lowering the blade.

"Either let me go and get on that horse, or be done with it. Kill me."

He was collected, sure of everything he did even when it might cost his own life. He didn't crumble like her. Didn't question himself the way she questioned everything. She wished to have a hint of that confidence now.

_One thing is certain. You are not a killer. _

Jasmine yanked the blade away with a sharp exhale then stepped forward with head held high. The sun began its ascent and reflected like orange auburn in his eyes. She could tell he was ready to touch her, part of Jasmine wanted him to, to offer comfort and solace, but this was hardly the time for that.

"Let me be clear," Jasmine bit and he retracted his hand. "The only reason I was rescued from Sahara is because you hinted for Hamed to come find me. You saved my life once. And now I've spared yours." Almond eyes looked him once over. "We're even." Shoving the blade's handle against his chest Jasmine numbly brushed past.

In unperturbed silence they made it back to Agrabah by sundown.


	29. Chapter 29: Willingly Walk in Shadows

January 1702

The town of Haifa, with a hamlet of roughly two hundred, served as a fine harbor for the anchorage of galleys and other vessels. Built on the slopes of Mount Carmel, Haifa Bay was a desolate ghost of what it may have been thousands of years prior.

There were rumors of the Bay becoming a lair for pirates but it seemed void of scandalous traffic tonight.

The only commotion: sandaled feet pattering across the docks. A few dozen women skittered sand across the wood, stumbling over those in front of them, as they ran in a huddle.

A ship came into view whose notable desolation and lack of maintenance was evident even in the dark. How long had the bloody thing been abandoned? A questionable plank lowered and up they went in rows of two.

"_Hush. Hush_."

Their murmurs to keep quiet made them all the louder, but it wasn't even clear why they need to be quiet in the first place. (Much less flee in the middle of the night.)

"Aladdin, slow down." She called from behind the group.

Half attentive he signaled with his hands to keep running.

Her lungs burned. "For the last time explain this."

"My answer is as before – _later_." He pulled her along. "You want to live? Stay silent. Listen."

The story of her life: 'Do as a man says and keep quiet about it.' Only the scenery changed, never the company.

"This is a blade. Aim for the neck if you must. If you can't, run." Aladdin's frantic energy made her nod and a small dagger was clumsily shoved in her sweaty palms. "Don't worry about them – if it comes to you or them, it's _you_."

She'd always save herself though. Always had.

Suddenly a blinding light shot across the desert. A firework in the vast distance from whence they'd come – ten miles or so. In awe she watched as it lingered brilliantly in the inky black sky and slowly trickled down.

Aladdin yanked her by the arm. "I said keep moving – I may even now be too late. If Allah be gracious, that's a sign from Lilura." Aladdin spoke to himself but she snapped a response.

"What sign!? Aladdin what're we doing? Where are Roel and the others? If he finds you've stolen his women–"

Aladdin propelled her up the plank, and she waved her arms out like a bird falling from a branch. She steadied her footing on the deck, cocked a fist and punched him in the arm before grabbing him by the ear.

"I don't care _what_ you've done for me, I will rip this thing off your face if you don't talk straight." That side of her surfaced too easily but proved useful.

"Shit, Tahira," Aladdin yanked free his throbbing ear. "I don't know anything! Alright?" He lowered to a hush so the others wouldn't hear. They were shaken enough already. "Lilura gave strict instructions to flee camp with you whor–, _women_. Please. Just get below deck and do as I say."

Tahira's wild curls sprouted from beneath her hijab. "I've done plenty what you asked over the last month – haven't seen a reward of it either."

"That was only _twice_ and I was decent to you." Aladdin insisted and she took a steadying breath.

The last of two dozen women, and a handful of little ones, finished crowding beneath the ship's deck. Rahman, the boy from the brothel's café held out a hand for Tahira. She nudged her chin and he retreated to join the rest. Tahira worked her jaw side to side, hating the way it clicked at the joint.

"Aladdin – whatever this is, wherever she's taken our men, it can't be good. Lilura is not safe."

As the last of the light faded in the distance there came a horrific sound; like that of a million cicadas screeching across the desert sands. Tahira shuddered, eyes watering in fear.

"Could be Lilura. That's the way they'd gone – I'm sure of it. I must join the rest."

"I have a sick feeling." But Tahira's fingers slipped from his damp hand as he pulled away.

"I have to leave." Aladdin said boyishly, then, as if remembering what was at stake, became vexed. "Protect the ship. Lilura will need it when we return. Do not let anyone steal from her. You aim for their throat if so."

As if she would kill anyone on that bitch's behalf.

"Remember to run."

Two months ago, she'd tried running. Running from Ummah. Look where it'd gotten her.

Aladdin embraced Tahira's unresponsive body. When they separated, he covered his face beneath his uniform and took off down the planks. He mounted his tired mare, the one he'd dragged along with them, then gave a final wave. Tahira tucked the blade safely into the wrapping around her waist and crammed below deck.

* * *

The little ship looked more ghastly in the daylight, Aladdin noted. A man who was missing a few fingers, along with a personality, was aimlessly handed the reigns of Aladdin's mare. She'd be boarded later.

Aladdin rubbed the back of his neck feeling the grime of the last three days. He should have bathed in the tavern last night, but the water had been darker than his skin and he doubted he'd emerge any less filthy.

From the ship Aladdin saw someone rear their head before ducking back down again. He'd almost forgotten the luggage he'd left behind. He tugged on his hair anxiously.

"What about the women?"

Lilura's green eyes rolled heavenward – as if heaven were a curse and Aladdin right along with it.

"I should have been there. Not herding a flock of soiled doves to a ship. What use are them to me? Their captors are all dead leaving behind children and helpless mothers as my responsibility."

Aladdin's cheeks squished together as she took them between her claws, "Follow the course along the coast as we discussed. Only as we discussed. Leave details and causalities to me."

Lilura took the lead and Aladdin held up a finger to those behind him before following after.

* * *

Intentional gold shimmers glinted off her otherwise pale skin as she boarded; the waking sun accenting the maroon dress that hugged her hipbones. Extravagant and sharp. Regardless of the setting, Lilura took ownership of everything around her. The wind obeying her whims, dying flat in order that she alone be heard. Tahira felt the effect of the witch often, yet was never prepared for when it happened – for when a demon walked among them.

Tahira and the women stepped into the sunlight, squinting, huddled together afraid to break from the pack. _As if numbers alone could ward off a witch,_ Tahira mused, though she still refused to stand alone.

Aladdin fell into sight, with stiff drooping shoulders and wide eyes. He'd likely fall ill at any moment. Something had happened. Something _very_ wrong.

"Congratulations," Lilura had a way of commanding each syllable to sound like a snake coiling around an apple. Attractive, enticing, otherworldly. "You're no longer slaves to the so-called King of Thieves. You've been granted a gift rare few mortals ever receive – _freedom_. And it is I who grants, not only liberty, but _vast_ potential. The ship in which you stand could be your gateway into a new life – if you follow me."

"This is _Roel's_ ship."

By the sharp collection of breaths Tahira knew her words hadn't shocked only herself. Lilura on the other hand gave an expectant grim. In response, her frail arms floated to the side and her heels clipped the wood like a dagger being thrown repeatedly at a wall.

Clip. Clip. Clip. Until that same _dagger_ landed before Tahira's toes.

"Where is Roel?" Hot breath plumed in Tahira's eyes. "Has anyone seen him?"

_Rhetorical question_. Tahira had learned the phrase years ago when Ummah asked if she'd wanted freedom or survival. There was never an option between the two. It's how she knew Lilura's proclamation was full of shit.

"You don't see him, pet? Then _he_ is your leader. And this is _my_ ship." Lilura's unholy green eyes sliced through Tahira's, but it was impossible to look away. She held her there without movement.

A woman in back hissed, "_Roel_ is our leader," clearly disregarding the safety of the two children on her hip. "Aladdin is a child. He is a street rat without guts."

"Roel is dead." Aladdin barked crossing his arms as he stepped forward. A carefree expression conflicted his mournful tone. "They're all dead. The night of our escape. I went back. It'd been too late. Lilura barely escaped with her life. Praise heaven for that."

Only the breath of wind passed over the deck of the ship. The flaccid sails clanking against the posts. Aladdin droned on; chest puffed.

"Zamora, I know Roel fathered your children. _Dozens _of you have now lost the provider for your offspring – but though we be no longer King of Thieves the one truth I shall carry on is that we are all family. _I _will provide a new foundation for what our tribe is to be and I will avenge those we lost."

"Why should you expect _any_ of us to stay?" Tahira found her voice, anger temporarily breaking Lilura's hold.

Aladdin flinched at the abrupt shift in allegiance among the women as low murmurs broke into a discord.

"Why on earth would we surrender our freedom to another man?"

"He's not a man! He's a coward! Always hiding when there's work to be done!"

"Open waters are no place for small children."

His round eyes pleaded for Lilura to take the lead, but she continued ignoring Aladdin, too infatuated with her newest pet. Her talons found their way through one of Tahira's loose curls, tugging it as she exhaled warm against Tahira's flesh. The scent was sweet, but Tahira knew there was a stench so foul underneath the surface. She held her breath, closing her eyes to keep from crying.

Aladdin's voice warbled, unsure. "L-Lilura and I have made clear you're no longer prisoners… this can be a family. Lilura?" Aladdin offered seeing Tahira might faint at any moment. But he did little to help. Instead, he became immobile at Lilura's susurration.

"There's the dock, Lovie. You want to run? Do you think I'll stop you? Mmm? The aging whore with sores on her taint? **_What value are you?"_**

Tahira's mouth warbled, trembling upside down as she attempted to pull her head further from Lilura's icy touch. Tahira had felt death often: beneath the weight of a stranger as he poured his self-hatred into her body. She'd felt death when hunger became too much and she vomited stomach acid just for something to swallow down again. But _this_ feeling – this touch. _This_ was what true death felt like, and Tahira nearly cried in relief when Lilura shoved her away to shout at them all.

"What value are _any of you!? You have what right to question my motives? My power over your pathetic, insignificant human lives. A war is coming and I need warriors, allegiance. Not cowards. Not traitors! Those of you who want to run," _she shot an arm out toward the dock "**Run!**"

More than half hesitated, then obeyed, rushing as if their lives depended on it. Even worse, most abandoned their children in the process. And those that did, and there were many, were struck dead before they even left the plank. Their faces planted against the wood before their bodies rolled off into the water.

Could anyone fault them for trying!? They'd been bred like cattle. Having children without consent. Burdens they never asked for. Would Tahira have done the same thing if she were a mother? Possibly – she'd never know.

Those whom kept their children, lived, and didn't look back, but kept running.

Tahira's stomach lurched and four others vomited where they stood. Then a fifth. Someone would need to clean it; Tahira swallowed hers back down to minimize the mess. Had fear not struck her motionless Tahira might've run out too. Yet luck was scarce out in the world for a woman like her. Perhaps they'd sail to a land where she might make a home and be free, like she'd always dreamed of.

As quickly as hope sparked it died out. Burly men stormed up the plank and it bowed beneath their collective weight. A lone body was left in their path – a woman named Pria. The first man shoved her with the side of his boot and she toppled over with a splash. Tahira closed her eyes at the assaulting sound.

Fifteen men boarded. Sixteen if she counted Aladdin. Tahira didn't.

"Ladies!" Aladdin's arms gesticulated widely, all arrogance erasing any trace of remorse over the dead. Tahira hated him. "Meet your new shipmates. Mates! Get to work! We set course at dawn."

The men wasted no time loading the dock, the remaining women and children, more than half now orphans, going separate ways. Someone barked orders, Aladdin's voice being one of them as everyone took more or less to a job. But the craze of energy blurred.

_I ran alright._ From one problem to the next. Constantly worse. Deadlier. Another trap. Did Jasmine ever get to run again? Was she even alive? Aladdin spoke as if she were – swore he'd seen her just days ago, but he lied often. He didn't know of their short history either. There remained little private about Tahira – the entire world practically having fucked her. But those little secrets that she could keep, never mind how insignificant, those were the ones she held tightly too. Only fragments of memories, facts, the ones no one thought to look for in her stupid mind.

Secrets she'd cling to until the day she died. It would be a death more welcoming than the vision that met her now

_'Demon'_, Tahir mouthed from across the deck and Lilura's smile split unnaturally wide. Tahira hurried to clean up the bile not looking up again until the mess, and witch, had finally vanished.

* * *

Their arrival felt just as secretive as their departure had been; taking a side road that lead along the outskirts of the city. Only skittering shacks were placed along the small river, which was considerably small compared to the Jordan. The babbling path followed them into Agrabah, speaking to Jasmine in kind as if to drown out the million thoughts ripping at her. The distraction worked until the river split away to leave Jasmine alone with a disturbed mind. And Jafar.

Out the corner of an eye Jasmine watched Jafar and how he remained straight-backed. He appeared alert as ever if not more so despite the fact he'd not slept in two days. It was almost a strength to be fascinated by.

_There's no strength in a murderer_.

Jasmine chastised herself shaking her head. _Cowards_ murdered. _Cowards_ disregarded the value of life. _Cowards _took revenge.

_Like Sahara…Like Baba._

Her heart weighed down into the pit of her stomach until it physically hurt. Jasmine held it discreetly.

The sphere peaks of the Palace glanced above the trees as the dirt path wound back towards the city. With only a handful of shops, that'd likely closed already, they'd reach the gates with few witnesses. Her heart squeezed at the familiar walls. How could a single month change everything? Annihilate the very concept of what defined _home_. While Jasmine believed they created those walls to keep her in, she wondered now if it'd been to keep others out. People like Lilura. Jafar.

_Lot of good it did. _A short laugh caught in her nose and Jafar eyed her.

"Something beguiling to you?"

Her jaw flexed, chest swelling with a ragged breath. His voice made her cringe.

_Ten more minutes._

_Ten more minutes of freedom._

_Eight._

_Six._

She couldn't stand it anymore. Jasmine heeled her mare's side then just as suddenly jolted to a halt that thrust her stomach onto the saddle's horn. She couldn't move, not even to turn her neck at the sound of powerful hooves approaching. The black steed pulled in front and Jafar fell into her sight; as did the magic emanating from his palm.

"You're eager to run to your _Baba_." The word was mocking. "To run to the Irish goat and the friends you think you possess in that palace – but I advise caution with who you trust. More importantly, who you speak to about our _marriage_."

She couldn't respond if she wanted. He'd never forced magic on her except the first night he'd come into power. Oddly enough, it was another level of betrayal. The last twenty-four hours had made him arrogant, or perhaps he'd become stronger.

He'd done more last night than return Malachi. Didn't he…

"Nothing has changed." His tone carried low but hit like a kick to the jaw. "Our dynamic is and shall remain as it was before Israel. Whatever immunity you thought you obtained is gone." His fingertips rubbed the reigns in his other hand. "You threatened my life this morning. I wanted to kill you for it. I should have."

He could. He'd get little by way of a fight. Death seemed less cruel than life anymore.

Seconds ticked by until the magic evaporated and the handle of the saddle eased out of her side. Jasmine didn't break eye contact though. Instead she stared harder, lips pressed flat against her teeth.

"You chose this. Chose to remain at my side, and pledge allegiance."

_I hate him. I hate him!_

"And the only way out now, is death."

She wanted to hurt him. To hurt him as deep as he hurt her. Words alone were enough. It may be a shit excuse for one but Jafar had a heart and Jasmine held the ammunition to wound it. The way she did last night – the way her vile words made his face drop.

Allah that look in his eyes was traumatic. During that moment Jasmine had felt his pain. It wrapped around her throat like black chains. Agony. The agony of a little boy who'd heard those same cruel words his entire life. A vulnerability, unshielded, though she knew Jafar tried to shield it.

"You'd have me killed if I run again?" her voice was small.

Jafar didn't respond which was response enough. Jasmine chewed her lip, peering ahead at the path.

"Did you mean any of it? In those caves…"

Traumatic silence accompanied Jafar's callousness. "Haven't you learned by now that words are meaningless. Besides – A man knows exactly what to say to receive an _easy_ fuck."

Jasmine exhaled with a whimper.

Jafar expected cruel retorts. Anger. But not that gut-wrenching breath that told him he'd just twisted the knife in her heart. The mare bolted then, at Jasmine's behest, carrying her far from him.

She'd never get far enough though. Jasmine could reach the end of the world and still never escape the treachery he'd caused. He hated himself. Hated her for how she affected him. Hated this entire fucking city. His mother had it right all along. He shouldn't have been born.

* * *

_Just one. One memory. A moment. A scent?_

What was Sahara's voice like? How did her mouth form when she spoke or laughed? Did she even laugh? Did they play games together? Did she hold her close, even once?

Jasmine never tried before. Not truly, to remember who her mother was. Why that'd been the case Jasmine had given little thought to either. Until this moment, when the thought was all-consuming.

Baba said she reminded him of Sahara. Did he mean physically? Or was there a resembling darkness in Jasmine Hamed picked up on?

"_Sahara_," the whisper on her lips felt foreign. "_Mother_," Jasmine tried again, closing her eyes to picture herself as a child.

There appeared only shadows of color in her mind's eye, while each version of a woman Jasmine conjured was a mixture of others, never Sahara herself.

The deeper Jasmine pressed the more her head began to hurt. As if something pressed back. A sharp stinging rang through her head; an aching equivalent to a silver pick being stabbed through an ear.

"Enough already!?" Jasmine snapped smacking Mia's hands away.

The bottled oil dropped, shattering on the patterned floor. Mia was on the verge of tears as she bowed her head, her knees soaking wet from kneeling at the edge of the baths.

Jasmine blinked rapidly, shifting in the water to peer behind her. "Mia forgive me. I'm worn from the journey."

Mia sniffed, apologizing quietly as she picked up the shards coated in a pink liquid.

"My apologies Queen Jasmine. I talk too much. Ramble on so. Everyone says it'll be the death of me." Mia stood; head still bowed as Jasmine peered up apologetically. "I just missed you so much, Your Majesty. Do you prefer to bathe privately tonight?"

Jasmine nodded but Mia was already on her way, the two nearby maids also taking their cue to leave the bathhouse. Mia paused, turning with the glass in her hands.

"Perhaps from now on I'll write down what I mean to say. Then can better gather my thoughts of what matters and what doesn't."

Jasmine was too exhausted physically and emotionally to respond past a small smile. Truthfully Mia's rambling had been unnoticed. Jasmine's head just hurt. Everything hurt. She sunk lower in the water, rolling her neck back on the cold ledge.

_"Let's dance little one."_

_Jasmine's baby hands covered a woman's face, as she was set back on her feet. "Dance as the gypsies' dance," Sultana said in a strange voice. Jasmine followed as best she could, dancing, giggling._

_"Dance like the gypsies. Dance Propheteia."_

Propheteia… Jasmine's eyes opened painfully. The singular memory just as blurred and unsure as any other. Maybe it'd been real. Her nightmares too felt real. Were they in fact suppressed memories? Or a twisted perversion based on everyone else's opinion of Sahara.

Would people spin lies about Jasmine the same way?

_"You think you're such a victim…Aladdin was right. Lilura too. Deceitful like your father and a wicked whore like your mother."_

Jasmine hiccoughed a breath, splashing water on her face to forbid anymore tears. But the last twenty-four hours kept replaying.

_"You don't know who you are…hiding behind doe eyes when deep down you're really fucked-up."_

But Jafar's words remained most prominent.

_"Sahara turned her rituals to the purest blood she could find. Yours."_

_"Hamed murdered in cold blood."_

_"You ask for truth and snap at the slightest gust of its weight!"_

_"You're drawn to the blackness… the spitting image of Sahara. If only I'd seen it before, I never would've married you."_

Jasmine held her mouth rocking forward with knees pressed to her bare chest. She wanted to cry – scream. But it was hard enough just to breathe. Grief, it was so overwhelming it was all she could feel.

Everything. _Everything_ that defined who she was, perished. Her morals, perception, beliefs, faith. It was stripped from her flesh, leaving a bloody exposed mess.

Where was the justice? The happy ending? Or at most a humane one. God was cruel. Hell was a joke when life alone was so treacherous. _All_ people had a hand in it. They take what they have to, hurt people they swore never to hurt, but they do regardless because the world makes them.

* * *

It was barely past midnight when the shock and grief dubbed into something else. The inky black of hate crept in to settle between the skin of her gums and teeth. Like a bacteria it began a gnawing beneath her fingernails. Hatred, Jasmine would discover, was when sanity blurred with madness.

And fuck, did she ever hate.

She hated Jafar most. Despised the silk of his deep voice. The way he smiled. The way he walked. She hated him. Hated Hamed. Hated Agrabah! It burned white hot but the flames wouldn't kill her. It'd be the smoke, the grip of darkness and painstaking asphyxiation.

Her skin felt too tight. The blankets rubbed her raw and she dug her nails into them as payback. Her breath quickened in hot spurts out her nostrils. The more she thought the more she fumed and an unbearable weight crushed her lungs.

Jafar repositioned and she shot him daggers. His silhouette rose and fell peacefully.

_How. Dare. He. Sleep?_

"Jafar." The room ignored her harsh whisper. "Jafar…" she all but growled and yet he pretended to sleep.

Impetuously, Jasmine turned, pressed bare feet to his back and kicked _hard_. The heels of her feet dug between Jafar's shoulder blades yet received little else than a grumbled warning. That spurred her more and with another kick Jafar fell off the bed.

Before Jasmine planned a defense attack Jafar sprang up, yanked her by the ankles and pounced on top, pinning her wrist by her ears.

"_Unacceptable_!" Jafar's teeth bared like a wolf's, ready to skin her alive. She struggled in defiance, almost wishing he would.

Jasmine snapped her teeth at his face and Jafar pinned her throat, pressing a thumb deep into her jugular. The fire didn't leave her eyes, even as fear took hold, breath eluding her too long for comfort. Helplessly Jasmine tried to choke him in return, but he was a fortress.

If Jasmine didn't stop, if she didn't drop this until tomorrow, Jafar might not let go in time.

Jasmine wheezed, drawing in a sacred breath of air when the pressure lifted. (Though his grip remained.)

Jasmine scowled, slackening and tightening her jaw, as if ready to speak. But what was left to say? Her eyes flicked briefly to his mouth, but he saw it. Noted how her lips parted and her large pleading eyes glossed over. Instinctually Jafar tightened around her throat and the softest moan escaped her.

He hardened at the sound. **_Instantly_**.

Jafar released her wrist to gather her nightie over her thighs. He expected protest, even if for the show of it, but Jasmine parted her legs, eyes locked with his. Within a breath Jafar sprang free then slid into her velvety walls with a magnificent thrust.

As he ground her into the mattress, they shared silent gasps, Jafar gripping her neck while another fist twisted in the sheets. His body rested so heavily on hers each motion stroked her clit. Jasmine gripped Jafar's shoulders, practically trying to climb him with knees pulled to her chest. Jafar groaned, sliding deeper, hitting harder.

Her quiet moans of pleasure were more erotic than if she'd been screaming his name. It felt secret – a sound made so only he could hear. Only he could create it in her; even when she hated him, she still wanted him. That realization alone rushed blood through him like fire, and he bucked his hips ruthlessly towards the finish.

Jafar didn't care if she came this time; he was ready. As his cock emptied, Jasmine clenched, shuddering in spasms; her mouth covered as if she could hide her orgasm from him.

Fast. Loveless. Always loveless. He could never let himself love her.

The moment passed. Felt desolate between them. She wouldn't look at him. He didn't want to look at her either. Every time Jafar did it reminded him of the guilt he _should_ feel, yet couldn't.

When there is nothing left inside except for death, it becomes easier to snuff out the light in others. But Jafar would make no apologies. For any of it. After all, he wasn't born this way. The world created the monster he was, and therefore the world would continue to pay for it.

Jafar slipped out, then kept again to his side of the bed until he fell asleep.

* * *

Jasmine watched the arabesque door knocker resting heavily in place. Her fingers twitched hesitant. She'd snuck away when Jafar fell asleep. Bravery had driven her in the moment...

Should she knock? The door was open anyway – still, it felt primitive not to. Maybe the need was out of instinct. To announce her presence before it was too late to change her mind about entering.

Without consent her body moved of its own volition, dropping the knocker once.

It rang, loudly. Not even the window drapes breathed, despite the open window.

_You should go._

Jasmine stepped inside the cavernous room.

Yellow walls were turned heavy brown under the weight of darkness. The room reminded Jasmine of a hole in the ground. A grave, full of dry bones and nothing more. Anxiety pricked the back of her neck; the room was oppressive. Like the declivity of her own existence.

Having abandoned the earth, the night sky was devoid of light. Silence. Not even the stars waged war against the clouds. It felt like a sign.

A shadow bumped along the farthest wall and she froze.

"Hamed?" The words hardly left her trembling tongue. "B-baba?"

Then another creature moved, this time beneath the sheets of a massive bed. Even with unforgiving darkness Jasmine knew the person was too slender to be her father.

She must have the wrong room! Did Razoul have guests in their absence!?

Jasmine eased on the back of her heel towards the exit. A marble figurine stabbed the pad of her foot and she cried out. Her hands shot up to cover her mouth but any noise she'd tried masking became muted on its own as the sheets fell away and a man sat upright.

_Baba_ – though it wasn't Baba at all.

His small eyes were large like the cavities of Israel's olive trees. Only his retained no movement within, no glint of life or noise. The depths of them sunk into his skull, guarded by the walls of bones in his face. Bone.

That's nearly all he was anymore. The moon needn't reflect to show the carnage of his appearance. He was death with a beating heart.

"B-ba." Jasmine cleared her throat holding it with a trembling hand. "Baba?"

He didn't see her though. He watched the door in the distance. Jasmine followed its path of yellow light which cut like a rectangle across numerous rugs. Their colors looked haunting in the muted light.

"I will get you someone, father." Jasmine kept a firm eye on the shapes beneath her feet and the damn little figurine it harbored. "I'll get your maidens. Doctor Tabiib."

"Why don't you come back?"

The room spun the faster she breathed. She needed to hold something to stay upright.

"You want me to come back?" She eased around careful not to fall as the room turned. "I'll come back Baba. I am back…"

"Why don't you come back to me?"

Like the ocean calls a ship so did her father's voice call her. While raspy with a quiver at the end, Jasmine heard detected her Baba's sweetness. The way he _used_ to speak. It was a tune she didn't know she needed until that moment.

"I'm here Baba," Jasmine's thighs found the edge of the bed and Hamed's wrinkled hand drifted absently towards her.

"Why don't you come back?"

"I'm back father. I'm back. See?" Her hands slipped in his one. Hamed was neither cold or clammy with fever – but it felt strange. Upsetting. Jasmine dropped to her knees and tried to rub familiarity into their shared touch.

He had spots on his hand…veins ribbed beneath her thumb as she smoothed them. When she glanced up Hamed's black eyes were already watching.

"Why don't you come back to me, Sahara?"

It no longer sounded like her Baba. Her heart skipped at the faint footsteps of the hallway but no one entered the room.

"Come back to me, Sahara."

_Sahara? _Her gut clenched in spasms, color draining from her lips. "It's _me_ baba. Your _daughter_ – Jasmine."

His mouth, widened by sagging loose skin, twisted down.

"Baba it's Jasmine. See – feel my face?" She brushed her lips quickly over back his hand. "My kiss, Baba. Remember?"

Jasmine smiled relieved when Hamed's head tilted; but then he crooned, "Why didn't you come to me, Sahara? I called your name."

"I'm your _daughter_." Jasmine stiffened, knees giving out before she could try and stand.

"I _don't_ have a daughter." Hamed wheezed and suddenly his grip was too tight, too aware on her hands.

"Baba, let go please." Jasmine pulled timidly at first, then gasped, "Baba let go. Baba your hurting me!"

Hamed ripped Jasmine by the back of the hair.

"_You hurt **me**! Hurt your mother! Because of you she's gone. She's gone! You killed her! She killed the Sultana!"_

He screeched for the guards then Jasmine hit the ground. Hands flung over Hamed's body pinning and strapping him to the bed. Doctor Tabiib rushed in, still in pajamas, and covered Hamed's screeching mouth with a cloth. An instant later Hamed was out cold.

The sconces on the bedside walls were lit, but Jasmine wished to remain in the dark. In the dark the man could've been anyone. The light made it real. Seeing his white hair, his stubby fingers and small mouth meant she couldn't pretend it away. Couldn't re-imagine another faceless assaulter.

_Baba_.

Servants adjusted Hamed's covers and pillows while shock overthrew Jasmine's nervous system. She shook, her teeth clattering together despite how hard she bit down.

"My Queen, allow me. Are you hurt? Your Highness –" Tabiib eased Jasmine to her feet keeping a hold on her arms. She shoved away causing herself to stumble and Tabiib to reach out again. "You should lie down. Have some tea and I can share what's been happening."

But the offer felt like a threat. Another deception of safety to ensnare her. Jasmine staggered backwards, then fled from the prying eyes.

Jasmine sprinted through the hall crashing into her handmaiden. It knocked the wind from them both, Mia wide eyed and afraid. Jasmine shoved her away too and kept running. Jasmine ran until she was lost within parts of the palace she'd never seen. Bare feet hit the ground harder though, racing blindly until fate guided her down a narrow passageway. Jasmine darted to its end, clashing into the doors before throwing them open and barricading inside. She put the latch in place and slunk along a wall of shelves to gather in a far corner. It was dank and black. Jasmine pressed into a tight ball on the floor, willing the shadows to hide her forever.

* * *

The winter months drew to an end before there was time to miss them, while the mark of a full year crept ever closer. Nearly nine months ago Jafar had come to power and yet the occasion still unequivocally bled like a raw wound beneath a scab.

She'd changed. Curious how it didn't happen overnight. There was no lever pulled to magically open a door and alter everything. Rather change festered little by little, days, hours. Moments that painstakingly happened without being noticed.

Change was unremarkable until it'd already taken place; when the world before could hardly be remembered as it once was and she couldn't recall the person she'd once been.

Jasmine was nearly seventeen, yet her reflection carried burdens of years beyond that. The little girl months prior felt like a phantom. Jasmine doubted she ever existed at all.

Jasmine touched her skin tentatively to make sure it was even her. It was.

Beneath her fingertips Jasmine traced the faintest scar on her lip. It's where Jafar's cobra staff struck when he'd been aiming for Aladdin's neck. She'd been protecting Aladdin. She'd have done anything for love. For a chance to have the love Hamed always spoke about.

A love she now knew was a lie. Maybe all love was.

"Dear Queen?" Mia bowed irrefutably before the boudoir door had a chance to fully open. "The Sultan requests her Majesty be in attendance to tonight's banquet."

Jasmine's gaze listed to Mia's reflection in the bottom of the vanity mirror, then looked again at her own self. Jasmine's neck was long and she traced it the way she'd traced her lips. Was Sahara's neck long too? Did the poison burn through her neck? Did she suffer, or was it quick?

"Does Her Majesty request my services…or other maidens if mine are not adequate for the evenings preparations? Amira or Kesi are very well with hair. Better than I am I suppose. A better handmaiden they would make…" Mia's vocals wavered like the wing of an infant bird – Jasmine only heard noise. "B-beg your pardon Queen Jasmine. The Sultan made it clear the Queen not be late this time."

"There's hours left still. I'll be along. Depart from me, please." Jasmine spoke over a shoulder, waiting for the door to close shut before catching another glimpse of herself in the vanity.

This time she traced the oval glass, reimagining, in futility, that it was her mother she spoke to now.

"I have so many questions for you." Maybe she was going mad… any third party would conclude as much. "Questions for both of you."

Her eyes shut with a gust of breath as she thought next of Hamed. More accurately, of the night he'd gone insane. It had stricken powerfully though her core. Like a hole being blasted it'd left a void so vast nothing would fill it again. She hadn't visited him since.

Jasmine glanced down at the open Jewelry box; then slapped it shut. She'd get ready later.

* * *

"Queen Jasmine! Another one. I got another!"

A boy about her age spurt through the servants' doors out into the garden where Jasmine waited anxiously. He spoke in broken Arabic laced with his native Egyptian tongue. Seti was one the many gifts Jafar received lately. The boy was the favorite servant of an Ottoman statesman (a Governor in a province of Egypt Jasmine failed to recall.) Jafar cared little about Seti, but Jasmine found he was the only one she trusted in the palace. Besides, he eagerly partook in her errands.

"I get to see beautiful city. Beautiful colors. Food. People. Girls and boys." He smiled with a row of crowded teeth. A smile that made her heart feel a twinge of warmth again.

Seti looked around then pulled back the sheepskin cloth to reveal his recent finding before cloaking it again.

"You're a faithful servant Seti. Thank you for being so quick."

"Four days. Four is all." He bounced up and down before rocking side to side again. "Anything you ask I will do." Seti pulled free a thin dagger barely larger than the bone of a quail feather. "I will give my life Queen Jasmine, if you ask it."

"N-n-n-n-no no!" Jasmine rushed snatching the knife first then the package. "Why don't you help yourself to a long bath and Geraldine's scones and muffins?"

"Oh Queen, I give many thanks. Many thanks to you," he bowed, took a step back, thanked her again, before bowing and stepping back. Jasmine allowed four more before she finally had to tell him to stop. After Seti slipped back through the servant entrance a laugh caught in her throat, then turned into a dry cough in her hand.

Jasmine tucked the rectangle in her arms, mindful of Seti's little weapon as she strolled casually among the blooming flowers. Red poppies – or white Jasmine's – were budding. She didn't pay much attention though.

"Your Majesty." Razoul's stentorian appearance thundered as he beelined from the marble stairs around the corner. Jasmine hid both hands behind her back.

"Your Majesty. Dear Sultana. Sultan Jafar is searching for you," he stretched the word, "_Again.._."

She pulled a faux smile. "Clearly the Sultan hasn't been looking hard enough considering I've been in the gardens the entire evening."

Razoul eyes the landscape as if it'd prove her alibi. Jasmine set her chin disliking how arrogant he'd become in recent weeks. Razoul continued haughtily.

"He has all staff, myself included, searching the grounds for you."

"Then that makes their efforts that much more pathetic. Here." Jasmine handed over the petite glass knife. "This belongs to Geraldine. See she receive it?"

Razoul blinked with a frown. Servants were no longer permitted weapons within the palace. Precisely why she didn't use Seti's name. Razoul still had a soft spot for Geraldine, and she would certainly give it back to Seti. (The boy easily won over hearts.)

"Of course, Your Majesty. Might I ask why you have it? Why you're not getting ready in the first place."

Her demeanor dropped. "No, you may not. You may do as I asked and keep to what you're best known for." She stepped past. "Sucking up to my husband."

A smirk pulled at her lips knowing it flustered Razoul. But in seriousness, she wasn't the only one growing tired of the man's behavior; and Jafar would do far worse than antagonize to send a message.

* * *

At the end of the northern corridor, on the fourth level, the library sat self-importantly. Engraved arches outlined the double doors, reaching heights ten times hers in size. The entrance stood out beautifully, even if Jasmine, and most staff, had seemingly forgotten of its prior existence.

Dust collected everywhere due to lack of maintenance over the years. Which proved truest in the high corners where spider webs were visible, woven loosely around books, dirtied shelves, and ladders. Scattered lanterns hung from braided cords embedded into the ceiling. They remained unlit even with fleeting moments of sunlight left. Jasmine preferred the fireplace anyway, which permitted enough light to reach past the few tables and inglenook.

As Jasmine stepped inside, a lone spider scurried over the floor crossing into the dark portion of the room.

_Eww._

Maybe she would reconsider having the lanterns lit after all. She preferred this to remain a place of solitude, but in time servants would need to tend to it. The library had quickly become her favorite room and deserved a rebirth.

At the entrance were multiple tables of varying sizes and shapes. Currently, two were piled with stacks of tomes and scrolls. Jasmine plucked one book from it, while keeping the one Seti brought, and began reading as she walked idly. A towering window harbored a cozy alcove beside the fireplace. Jasmine kicked off her slippers and curled up in its haven.

With the turn of each fragile page came sweet smells; notes of vanilla flowers and almonds. A scent which Jasmine figured occurred with the breakdown of old paper. That too was becoming one of her favorites.

If only the topics she'd been researching were as comforting.

Most her research concerned spells to absolve issues such as: tooth aches, the bleeding of a woman, or nose, scabies, warts, and or sore ends of fingers. Others passages found were scratched in foreign languages or otherwise ineligible, with strange symbols and markings.

Each manuscript had proven less useful than the last and tonight's read was no different.

Jasmine tossed the first book aside exasperated. The fire was dimming; she'd likely spent over an hour already. She wouldn't have energy for the second tonight. Jasmine hovered her hands over the goatskin cloth it was wrapped in. Jasmine's fingers tingled. Maybe it was nervous optimism that twisted her nerves each time she opened a book. She didn't want to be disappointed yet again. Likewise, Jasmine wasn't sure she even wanted to find _real_ magic.

_Nothing can undo what's been done._ She heard Jafar's voice repeat on a loop the same way it had for months on end.

_No one can undo it._ "Or, rather no one is _willing_ to."

No one would fix her father's health. Which she needed done, for more than one reason. Jasmine shifted straighter to un-swaddle the booklet and flipped through hastily when something caught her eye.

_'Speak with Spirits.'_

Jasmine chewed the side of her cheek swinging her feet to settle back on the floor. It was in Latin – and possibly Greek. Some parts were written in Arabic. It was chaos! But she could understand hints of what was said. It was the first entry that may be useful.

"Queen Jasmine!"

The book fumbled as Jasmine shot up. Mia's cry rang louder than high heaven, even as she tried to 'whisper'. By the third shriek Jasmine flung the doors open and pulled Mia inside.

"You'll wake the dead, Mia, honestly." The latch dropped heavily back in place. "I thought I made perfectly clear no one else is to know I'm in here."

Mia rose on her toes, "I _did_ whisper. Oh goodness, Her Majesty is cross with me. Forgive me. Please." Mia bowed frantically and Jasmine pulled a face.

What was it with the servants lately? She wasn't _Jafar_, for Allah's sake.

"Stop bobbing your head. You look like an Ostrich gone mad." Jasmine chided.

_Then again, you have picked up thicker skin._

Jasmine forced a contrite smile but it made Mia wince.

"Then, her Majesty is not angry?"

Jasmine would have to try harder. "Of course not." She forced her shoulders to relax and turned to rewrap the faceless book before tucking it carefully away. "Just – these floors tend to echo. It wouldn't seem proper for a Queen's Handmaiden to shout."

Mia dipped her knees, springing up with a timid smile. "Of course. I beg your forgiveness. I get so nervous in parts of the palace. Geraldine is always snapping at me for doing so. I'd rather spend more time at your side Your Majesty. Perhaps then I'd feel less frightened of getting lost."

In any other instance Jasmine would've kept Mia in tow more often. But things were different. She didn't want friends anymore – people who got too close always ended up leaving. Or betraying her.

"Don't be silly – you know the palace is perfectly safe."

Jasmine went around to unfasten and retie the strings of Mia's waist skirt.

"And never mind the Irish woman." Her voice drifted, "She's sour ever since I returned from Israel. Besides, you serve me well, Mia." Jasmine stepped forward again with hands sensibly clasped. "Now. What on earth were you shouting my name for?"

Mia's face fell in remembrance and Jasmine's followed suit.

_"Dinner!"_

_"Dinner!"_

* * *

"Hair – the hair."

"Earrings, your Grace. Earrings!"

"Kesi, the sash!"

Four pairs of hands fumbled over Jasmine's body, scrambling clumsily to piece her together as she sprinted. Her agile feet pattered down the main staircase then planted flat at the doorway of the Great Hall. It gave Mia time to drape a necklace around jasmine's neck before stepping away. If the two doorman had an opinion regarding jasmine's punctuality, they hid it well. The doors opened ceremoniously, and those seated rose to attention. Jafar rose last, clearly vexed despite how magnificently he smiled. It was a fake smile – Jasmine recognized the difference. A fact that made her feel...well…what more should she feel other than hatred?

"May I produce, Her Majesty. Queen of Agrabah – the Charmer of Beasts, an Enchantress of Mankind–."

Razoul's soliloquy forced her lips to tighten. She'd heard those names about herself daily since returning from Israel. Before then, only one person had called her that – a beggar in the streets – now it was what _all_ referred her as.

Jafar had called it incentivizing. Therefore, Jasmine despised it more.

"Eh-hem." An older gentleman, a captain Jasmine met twice before, whispered from the table's end. "Your Majesty, might I inquire your bare feet?"

Jasmine blushed suddenly aware of the cold marble beneath her toes. She squished them together. The man waggled his bare eyebrows.

"Don't worry. No one else will notice."

Jasmine smiled faintly and hurried – while tenaciously graceful – to stand beside Jafar. Mia stood against the far wall near Seti. The pair shared a demure smile before looking down respectfully.

"You are late." Jafar whispered with a chaste kiss to the hand. He crunched her fingers when she tried to pull away.

"Queen Jasmine and Myself welcome The King of Naples and his court as a sign of peace and well intent."

The King he spoke of raised his cup in cheers but any words he'd had were drowned with wine. Even his translator looked embarrassed and offered an apologetic smile. Together Agrabah's Rulers sat, and the rest of their company followed suit, continuing in chatter as the meal was served.

"You're wearing the necklace."

Jasmine flinched taken off guard by the rasp of his voice. Was she wearing a necklace? "I have a lot of necklaces. None are sentimental if that's what you're asking."

"Hmm." The sound was of annoyed discernment.

The King, who was called Alfonso, Jafar, and the translator, into a conversation while Jasmine hurried to touch the piece around her neck. It was a delicate chain, gold likely, with a pendant that felt like smooth stone. Jafar sat upright and she dropped the pendant to look pointedly at her plate.

The cuisine was foreign to accommodate their guests. It smelled as bad as it looked and Jasmine vied for tea instead.

"I wasn't sure you'd received it." Again his voice startled her and the tea slipped over as she jolted. He continued uncharacteristically soft. "I'd worried it hadn't made it to you," he glanced blackly at Mia then back again. "I'm delighted to see it was."

"I hadn't noticed." Jasmine leveled. "A servant girl picked my jewelry tonight." With a nervous chortle she added, "I don't even know what color it is."

She meant to say thank you. Or to even look at the damn thing out of courtesy; but neither happened and she buried her nose in her cup to avoid Jafar's piercing stare. Soon Alfonso required Jafar's attention and Jasmine was able to survive the dinner party more or less invisible.

Few conversation pieces were of importance to Jasmine: Sicily contested between French and Spanish dynasties. The woman beside her, Princess Maria was an old maid and Alfonso's sister. Jokingly the King questioned whether Jafar was inclined to take another wife; though Jasmine didn't laugh. The most substantial detail however was that the King would remain a fortnight to sign a treaty of allegiance and a trading route. There were also aforementioned plans of an army, before the topic fizzled quickly.

Fleetingly Jasmine wondered what Alfsono would be getting in return, but it left little to the imagination – a bargain, no doubt of a malicious and _magical_ nature.

Jasmine tried not to care how Jafar conducted business. Or why the hell they needed an army in the first place. Agrabah never had use of a military. With her tea finished she drank next a cup of coffee; it helped ease the growl of her stomach.

After another bout of wine, the King's humor turned hardly apposite. Then again Jasmine didn't know when conversing about mass slaughter would ever be humorous. The man clearly lived in a world of his own design – which meant he and Jafar would undeniably develop an analogous relationship. Meanwhile, Princess Maria proved garrulous, not only about the daily life in the castle, but the world as she saw it. Jasmine struggled to block out her adenoidal bickering.

"Esteemed Majesties of Naples,"

"Oh thank God," Jasmine breathed when Maria was forced silent.

"Lords, Ladies, Governors and Captain," Razoul droned in a fashion she assumed he'd learned from watching Jafar. "Please follow me to the ballroom, for entertainment and Arabian delectations."

_Delectations_? Jasmine rolled her eyes with a snort that went unheard over the jubilance of their departing guests. Razoul had never used that word in his life, or that voice.

The Great Hall emptied and Jasmine kept herself small, hoping to avoid further conversation with Maria as they walked. Ten dozen people could fit comfortably in the hallway, yet the twelve it held now felt suffocating. Jasmine was thankful Jafar allowed the both of them to remain in back; even if it meant they walked side by side.

"I'd ask what you were thinking; then again I already know."

Maybe his powers of perception could be used to leave her alone. Indefinitely.

"You're too emotional. It wears like a handprint across your face." Jasmine prickled at the analogy. Jafar continued. "It's one of your greatest weaknesses. You could be a remarkable Queen…little Charmer of beasts."

He wore the words smugly and she shot a contenting look.

"Nevertheless, you'll not survive enemies when every thought, every tug of your heart, is screaming for their attention."

Jasmine pulled a face as if plagued by sudden information she'd otherwise not known. "_Here's_ something. I read recently that there was a King who didn't speak unless it was of utmost value to do so. He would go day if not weeks at a time in silence.

Jafar cleared his throat drawing back his shoulders. Jasmine shrugged.

"Perhaps its why he had a happy union with his Queen. Why _his_ enemies were far and few."

He gripped beneath her arm bringing them to a standstill. Jafar watched as the crowd piled into the ballroom some feet away. The room was flooded with light and music, but all Jasmine noticed were the antechambers that lead to Hamed's room.

Jasmine focused on the buttons of Jafar's thobe to keep from growing dizzy. Soon the ruckus laughter quieted behind closed doors and Jasmine found she could breathe more easily.

"I need to know if I can trust you, Jasmine." Jafar squeezed her arm and she looked up as if just noticing him. "Are you alright?"

Again his gentleness was upsetting and she hesitated. "Fine… I prefer to return to my boudoir for the night. If it's all the same to you."

"It's not. And you won't."

"I'm _unwell_." She insisted then drew a sharp breath as he erased the distance with a raised hand. Jafar's forearm pressed against her forehead, but his eyes had turned sharp at seeing her flinch.

"You think I meant you harm?"

"You've struck me before."

"Across your _backside_."

"…Strangled me."

The words themselves were strangled but forceful enough that Jafar dropped his touch.

"Yes well…" he cleared his throat. "I haven't always behaved in a way one might prefer."

Jasmine's brows tucked in a bemused frown as she gathered her arms around her midsection.

Jafar tugged the hem of his thobe, "Unpleasantness aside. I require your transparency and loyalty."

_What?_

Jafar clicked his tongue then grabbed her hand and lead them far away from the ballroom – past the Great Hall, Throne Room, several guests' rooms and offices, then took a left. The polished floors were doused in candlelight and echoed Jafar's prominent steps as they approached an exit. The massive archway would lead them outdoors to a path that continued beneath a covered walkway.

Jafar stepped unhurriedly but his large strides forced Jasmine to practically jog. When Jafar noticed he slowed considerably and released her petite hand. He missed the feel of her already.

"We'll speak as we walk then." Jafar bit briskly. Guards were standing nearby, but remained out of earshot.

Jasmine wheezed. "I said… I'm unwell." Damn she was really out of shape. Maybe a walk would behoove her after all.

"Then we'll speak in our chambers."

"No," Jasmine's arm stiffened like a pole between their bodies. "A brief walk. Then I return to my boudoir. Agreed?"

* * *

The veranda was Jafar's favorite structure of the palace. It allowed him to remain guarded while still immersing himself outdoors (given it was warm). Intrinsically etched pillars lined the path every few feet while vines climbed up them in precision. An unwarranted grin pulled at the corner of his beard as he they walked. Nightfall was considerably cooler and so thrived more fervently than the daytime. Greenery blossomed all around – shrubs, trees, flowers – while varying birds and insects hummed across the palace grounds.

Jasmine should be full of joy out here. One glance her direction told Jafar otherwise. It strangely made him uncomfortable to see her frown, even out here.

He could stand the silence no longer. In a detached manner he said, "I've intended to speak with you for some time, only my schedule has quelled such obligations. I asked if you were trustworthy. If, all incidents considered, there remains an unwavering fidelity between us."

"_Remains_?"

Of all the pigheaded – "You made clear months ago that nothing in Israel was genuine between us. That we were resuming where we left off nearly a year ago."

"I know what I said." His Gait slowed to a stop. "You were _grieving_. For your safety, I pushed you away. I'm the last person you should cling to during that process

_Process_. As if it had an end.

"Enough..."

Jafar drew straight, unsmiling.

"Jafar you're not some hero in my life. Not when I was a child and certainly not now." Jasmine pushed on her diaphragm to keep the anger in. "And any walls you added between us that day were to protect _yourself_. You know what – I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear another word from you or anyone in that palace, because people like you, my father, Razoul, are deceptive manipulators." Her dress scrunched in both fists in emphasis. "You're a _fraud. _And it's _me_ who can't trust _any_ one of you!"

She banked right to cut the shrubbery that stumbled onto a garden path. It was canopied solely by large winding trees and wound in a maze of large bushes. Unlike the walkway there weren't lanterns and Jafar listened to her feet slap the stones before whispering a curse as she tripped.

"Why must she make everything more difficult." He stated impassively.

She was _also_ barefoot.

He should've scolded her at dinner for it. He'd been too distracted by her wearing his necklace to do so.

_And you're a goddamn idiot to have even given it to her in the first place._

He rubbed his jaw with his knuckles, pondering if it were best to leave her out there.

* * *

Five minutes passed in the maze before Jasmine rested. She scraped the soles of her feet back and forth over the smooth stones of the fallow path. She'd not been in this part of the palace grounds for years. No one had apparently. The marble bench she sat on now was smaller than she remembered. Baba fit here with her once before and they had watched hatchlings in the trees overhead. _"Mama birds leave their babies – but don't worry. They come back. See dearest?"_

Her eyes opened to the dark. The memory faded. Jasmine could no longer recall the melodies of those birds. Or the way Baba played with her in the trees. Or what he looked like when he was still happy. When he was _him_. When the world was innocent and nothing was more than what it appeared.

Simple.

Jasmine felt rather than heard Jafar's presence. Apparently he was adept to seeing in the dark – unlike her. He was like a damn tiger, sneaking up without warning. It was his scent that'd given him away. She didn't look up. Her feet swung back and forth. Side to side, scraping gently over the stones.

"The flowers blossomed rather vibrantly this year."

Back and forth. Side to side.

"Their perfumes so strong it floods our chambers each night from the windows." Again he said _ours_; as if Jasmine hadn't been absent from them all season.

"I don't smell anything." Her tone was deflated.

Jasmine unfolded her hands to reveal a flower she'd plucked. The petals were warped from the sweat of her hand, still she rubbed a thumb over it as if unmarred. Jafar watched for a long while – he didn't care, so long as he could look at her.

"How do you do it. . . . With all the bad you've done. . . . _How_?" Her chest hitched with a croak. "How can you live with yourself?"

Her rounded eyes were pitiful; it was like he stared at the ghost of a little Princess he'd known a lifetime ago. The apples of her cheeks were colored as if she'd been crying but he saw no tears. Only blank, beautiful brown eyes, that sought answers he didn't possess.

It would be easy to hold her. Easier to crush her.

"Nothing?" She scoffed and it jolted her narrow shoulders beneath her dress. It flowed like milk over her form, blushing against the ground. In the moonlight she looked otherworldly; though Jafar couldn't decide which of the two worlds she stood between anymore.

"Anything I've ever done is bred of necessity, Jasmine. I'll make no apologies, no attempt to feel remorse because only a man in the wrong feels remorse."

"Even when he _is_ _wrong_?" the flower folded in her fist and Jafar took a step in, a glint in his eyes.

"It can be a challenge to come to grips with the evil that is in this world. But I didn't come out here to discuss _Hamed_. Another night perhaps," he grinned self-assured, "But not tonight."

The hairs on her neck stiffened. "Your egotistical callousness is far from charming anymore."

"You find me charming?" Jafar smiled coyly striking unwarranted warmth in her chest.

She rose, double fisted. "I _asked_ to be left alone – I requested solace from your company and _nothing_ more."

"Which I've tolerated, for _months_." Jafar's canines flashed though he remained outwardly calm. "An absence of which no other man would permit a wife."

_Ah. That's what he needs from me._

Jasmine swayed her hips as she moved in. "Because men have needs only a woman can fill? You need to lie between a pair of thighs, Jafar?" Seductively cruel Jasmine breathed against his mouth, "You'd have better luck with those whores you were used to fucking. Because you'll _never_ touch me again."

Jafar jolted forward and it knocked her on her heels. His neck corded with prominent veins and Jasmine flinched. The back of Jafar's teeth ground loudly; swallowing the explosion she knew was on his tongue. If red were an emotion it would mean recklessly impassioned; Jafar was red. His thin fingers flexed into a fist.

A ring glinted from his hand, a red jewel so dark it looked nearly black. She waited for it to strike her face when Jafar abruptly distanced himself then gathered his body in a tight line. She learned that the moments when Jafar looked most composed was when a hurricane teemed on the inside.

"Do you still want to kill me?" _Stupid question, Jasmine._

His truncated tone clipped, albeit smooth as honey "I want . . . To fucking _hurt_ you."

It produced a frisson of appeal. Then shame. "Is that what you did to Henrietta?"

Jafar's cheek ticked beneath his beard. It'd grown nicely full.

"I know you _tortured_ Ettie and _that's_ why she left. You cut her... Didn't you? Because of Sahara."

"Where did–"

"Secrets don't die out. And you're hardly the only one in that palace who's kept them."

His stare grew fevered, and she knew he was plotting ways to make their staff suffer.

"They say it's because you loved her. Loved them _both_." It was hardly what mattered – still it mattered to Jasmine. "What other motive would you have to avenge Sahara, if you didn't _love_ her?"

Jafar tilted his head with a disdained sneer, tacitly encouraging her to shut up.

Exasperated she added, "You wanted to talk, so _talk_. Did you love my mother?"

"Define _love_."

Her lips pursed. "Henrietta?"

"In my own way..."

It stung for some godforsaken reason. "What way was that?"

"My _own_."

"That's not an answer."

"It is. Just not the one you want."

They each stilled squaring off beneath the moonlit shadows.

"What _exactly_ am I being accused of doing?" His aggravation was mounting, "_Loving_, or causing chaos?"

"There's hardly a difference to a man like you."

"Man like _me_?" The inquiry made her blood cold. "Or a man like _Hamed_."

Jasmine surrendered, dropping her hands and the flower. Jafar would always win. What was the reward anyway? He'd die eventually. Like Hamed. Like herself. And all that would remain of anything were stories that other told: rewritten and misshapen into more lies. More deceit. More secrets.

Mutedly Jasmine picked up on the path again with as hurried a gait as possible. She stumbled twice, stubbing her toes along the way but eventually found lush grass and open space. Jasmine closed her eyes to focus her breathing.

"Your Majesty, Queen Jasmine."

Jasmine peeked from her lashes then dropped her jaw as she faced the terrace feet ahead of her. The new captain of the Palace Guard was at the end of the steps with a broad smile. He peered expectantly around and said something Jasmine failed to hear.

The balcony columns were dressed with sheer fabric and long stemmed flowers. Lanterns with colored glass panels, doused the space in romantic violet and blue lights. The usual outdoor cushioned chairs were tucked in a nearby corner, with wine and candles on its partnered table. And at the center was the familiar table, however now it was draped lovingly with a cloth and decorated with the most delicious foods.

There were only two seats provided. Jasmine's eyes watered with anger, then longing. She held her chest as if it could staunch the pressure building in her heart. The Guard stepped aside and became entirely forgotten when Jafar approached, marching past in long strides.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out as Jafar strode up the handful of steps. Jasmine cleared her head with a shake and hurried to respond. (Even if words failed her.)

"Wha – why. Is. All. – I'm not. _Jafar_?" The scent of her favorite foods plumed in her face as she landed on the terrace. Her stomach gave a traitorous lurch to the buffet. "Jafar, what is this?"

"A mistake." he grimaced at the approaching servants which sent them scattering with one look.

Jasmine stopped beside the table peering after him indignantly. "What am I supposed to say, Jafar?"

He kept walking.

Her heart raced anxious for the right words. "I won't choose between the two of you!"

He slowed, then stopped, already in the shadows of an adjoining room.

"If you're wanting me to choose between you or my father – you'll lose. _Always_."

Jafar's shoulders rolled. With precision he turned and folded an arm behind him as the other animated his eloquent dictation.

"Does it never tire you, child, to be self-righteous at _all_ times? Pinning, in some form or another, as if _your_ moral compass is the constituent that's been missing from the world – a world that's thrived for _eons_ without you. "

Jasmine peered from the tops of her lids. The backs of her arms were chilled now, the night air turning crisp. "I _did_ ask to return to my boudoir . . ."

He gave an uncomplicated nod as if agreeing.

Jasmine pulled on her middle finger, elbows rising with nervous tension as crickets rubbed the silence raw. "It _is_ beautiful," she rushed to add, "_Except_ . . . I wouldn't have eaten it anyway."

Jafar looked her over judgmentally, and she knew what he saw. She had thinned quite significantly. The Sicilian meal wasn't the first she'd refused. At most she ate bread with her tea. Even that she typically insisted to make herself.

"Do you –" he shifted his stance, blinking. "Jasmine, are you afraid you'll be _poisoned_?"

She flinched, insulted. He made her sound impractical. "The _last_ sultana was."

Jafar's expression fell. "Not. By. _Me_."

"Because you _loved_ her?" Jasmine accused, unabashed. "Or because Hamed beat you to it?"

Jafar's jaw rolled then snapped into a sardonic sneer. He erased the distance with one step then casually dipped a pointer finger into a bowl beside them. In a smooth motion Jafar gathered a dollop of cream, smeared it across Jasmine's neck and licked it clean.

_God-Fuck!_

Jafar tugged her head back by the hair then slipped his cream coated tongue into her mouth, sharing the chocolate mousse in a languid kiss. He pulled away leaving her dizzy.

"Mmm," he wound her hair tighter. "I didn't taste poison."

Moisture pooled between her thighs. "_You're_ poison."

"You mean _addictive_."

Jafar slid a powerful hand over her backside and her eyes fluttered.

"Want another taste, Pussycat?"

"Don't call me that anymore."

"You prefer Mouse?"

"Call me Nothing. That's all I've ever been to you."

A curt breath escaped his nostrils. His fingers slipped from her curls to finger the sticky trail left across her neck. His pink tongue flicked over his lips and it made hers run dry.

"I'll not be seduced into forgiving you –."

Swiftly Jafar bent to inhale her lips, then drew a line with his nose up to her ear and let out a low hum that rocked her to the core.

"But you already have. Haven't you, _love_."

Jasmine leaned into his words.

"It's what you despise most about me – that I stir something inside you. It's what makes you forgive me; when you can't forgive your own father." Jafar bit the flesh of her neck and she gasped with equally wanton repulsion.

Jafar practically shoved her away, causing her to stumble at the departure. Then added, "Here's something." Jafar smugly mimicked her earlier annotation. "The only thing I have _ever_ loved is **_power_**. _And_ the taste of a woman – although," His eyes wandered brazenly over her body, "of all the beautiful women I've had, you're by far the most exquisite."

His footsteps carried heavily inside the palace. She counted them, one, four, ten, before collapsing into a nearby seat. Her knees bounced as she ran clammy palms over the fabric of her gown.

_I hate him. I **hate** him._

Jasmine glanced, then shoved the bowl of cream to shatter on the floor.

Trembling, Jasmine touched her sensitive neck, retracing the mark his tongue had left. And it felt as if he were licking her again; his mouth, his intoxicating scent rupturing her soul. Her fingers stumbled over the necklace and her breath hitched. She looked down at it for the first time and water gathered behind her eyes.

A crystal – from the caves in Israel.

_Hate him Jasmine - You haven't even forgiven your own father! Jafar's a pig! Hate. **Please**._

She wanted to. That anger was all she had anymore. Without it…

Jasmine clenched the crystal, covering her face with the other hand. She refused to come undone.


End file.
